That World Will Cease to Be
by DraconicSecrets115
Summary: (Being reread and edited! Currently on: Ch. 9) Miraak served his dragon gods faithfully, though restlessly, until Apocrypha revealed to him his power and destiny. He was dragonborn, and that meant he could change the world, just as fate had decreed. The dragons were not gods, he learned. He would serve them no more; he would overthrow their tyrannical rule and bring them death.
1. Cold Destiny - Slaughtering Grounds

~D~

 _Opening of Part One: Destiny_

 _(Dez)_

 _The sunset lacks warmth,_ the boy thought. _For all of its purpose, it cannot burn bright enough to warm Keizaal._

He was like ice, still and unbroken, the rock beneath him frozen cold, the snow around him pure white. He was another soul in the wintry environment, a part of the land as much as the trees and brush. Though a chill sat uncomfortably in his bones, he had forgotten the discomfort. He noted how the world felt uninhabited, quiet and unmoving. With careful eyes, he observed the apparent emptiness of the wilderness, always alert.

It was not empty, he knew. There were animals that thrived in even the harshest of winters of the land. There were deer that had shaggy pelts to withstand the frozen nights and strong noses to help them find food in even the emptiest places. There were wolves that hunted them, strong and bound together by their instincts, pack animals that knew how to hit their prey with merciless efficiency to bring a swift end. There were bears with crushing physical power and size, armed with aggressive fearlessness and brutal strength. There were the deadly sabre cats that preyed on all lesser creatures and had the bulkiness of a bear, the swiftness of the wolf, and the fangs of a dragon.

The dragons. The dovah. Great immortal beings of claws, scales, and fangs that roamed the skies above. When they roared, their thunderous calls carried for miles across the snowy lands of Keizaal. Their wings casted shadows heralding doom for their prey. Their might inspired awe and fear in both man and beast. The strongest of living creatures, they held the highest rank of all predators.

Gods, among men, among beast.

Masters of power.

The boy had always thought them incredible. He'd never been granted even the slightest glimpse of the dovah, though he had heard plenty of tales of their strength and ferocity from his mother - enough to imagine them in his mind's eye. He intended to change the dovah's absence from his existence. He knew, one day, he would seek them out, as thousands of others had. The life he currently had would not hold him forever to these seemingly-empty woods.

He let out a small puff of air. Pride and solemnity filled his soul, burning warmly a fire of determination. Refusal to wrap his arms around his chilling frame stubbornly seized him. Instead, he kept his vigil, hands held loosely upon his knees. With the steady passage of time, the light crept down the sky, taking with it the small amount of warmth provided. The darkness continued onward, pushing the sun down the horizon. He felt it wasn't long before the first of the stars and constellations spanned the dark heavens above. They glittered and twinkled like odd magicka lights. He looked to them, their luminosity empty of any significance other than the reminder that he was alone.

Of course, his isolation would end sooner than he wanted. He heard footsteps, coming from behind. He cast a glance back and then forward again, pretending he had not done so. He gave a huff of assumed responsibility to disguise his true motives for sitting there, silently feeling that it would not help him.

A woman stepped forward to stand beside him, brows furrowed with recognition. Warm, thick clothes protected her from the elements. A gleaming pendant dangled from her neck. Her gloved hands fidgeted together, turning a ring on her hand. White powder covered her boots almost up to the knees, evidence of the distance she'd traveled. Her eyes shined knowingly, looking at the boy before turning to look at the stars. The boy did not spare her another glance. For a moment, no words were spoken.

She broke the silence, her breath pluming in the air. "You have not moved, Miraak, for nearly six hours. What are you intending for yourself? Death by freezing?" Her voice, though reprimanding, was not unkind.

"I intend no such thing." Miraak attempted to contain a shiver of cold. He finally felt it. Or rather, the lack of, as the chill had numbed his body. "My blood is warm enough." He was stubborn.

"Then perhaps a bear or a pack of wolves will eat you? Come home, Miraak, you know that your father is...stubborn."

"He has no right to deny me the knowledge of the mages."

"For now, he does. And as I am your mother, I say you need to come back home. You freezing to death will not change his mind."

"I will not freeze..." When she did not respond, he continued on a different topic, "Mother, what you said the other day... Are you really leaving?" He asked in his solemn tone. He finally turned his gaze towards her. Their eyes met. His could not hide the uncertainty he felt. "What am I going to do? What is Tovitaa to do? She is even more reliant than I think you realize."

His mother chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes glimmered in the starlight. "You know one only needs their mother for so long, Miraak. You and Tovitaa can fend for yourselves now... My... _duties_ call me back."

"One day, I will join the Dragon Order, too," Miraak declared. "Father cannot keep me here forever."

"I suspect that is truth. For now, try to learn from him. When you are stronger, you can find the mages yourself. Everything you need to know now, you'll learn from your father. But when the time comes for you to seek your path, don't forget the significance of your name."

"Yes, Mother."

"And take care of your sister... Come along then, Miraak. Perhaps, one day, you'll understand."

She reached out her hand to him, but he didn't take it. Instead, he stood up. He nodded, and she pulled her arm back, an understanding smile on her face. Soon, he wouldn't need her anymore. He was growing up. She felt a surge of pride in her heart. She turned heel and started walking. Miraak followed her, wishing he wasn't so short. If he were taller, he knew his father would not be so restrictive. The man would see his worth if he could just look him in the eye without dropping to his knees first to do so.

Then, being a mother, she smiled and began to recite his favorite poem verse.

"Allegiance guide,  
Replace the cold dying light.  
Save us with warm white.  
Give us a chance to see,  
The old world that thrives where new should spring.  
Take heart...  
That world will cease to be."

He never questioned where it came from. He did not feel any desire to. It was special to him, because it signified all of what he could be. Despite being named for the random verse, he felt the opposite were true - that it actually existed because of him. It brought a warmth to the coldness in his being, just thinking of it.

 _"Mother, why do those words seem so important?" He asked softly._

 _"Because that is you, Miraak. That is your destiny. I cannot express its significance for us all."_

 _He never questioned her answer. He believed it without a doubt._

 _Not until it was too late._

* * *

.

* * *

That World Will Cease to Be

 _Tol Lein Fent Dir_

* * *

.

* * *

I. Slaughtering Grounds

(Golt do Dinok)

 _"Miraak!"_

 _"Miraak!"_

 _"Miraak!"_

The words rang in his head like a massive heartbeat, the kind found only in the chest of a dovah, large and powerful. His own name was chanted in his ears, ringing forth all of its mighty power, empowering him with adrenaline. The implications were understood that he deserved their cheering praise. As it should be, he knew, for he was Miraak, son of the servants of the Dragons since the first men walked the cold, harsh lands of Keizaal.

Fate decreed it so.

Miraak knew his place in the world, and so should they. His was a place of power, of prestige. Those fools surrounding him held lesser ranks. They knew this. They should not rise, unless they were stronger. They should not disrespect, unless they were mightier. They should not speak, unless their voices were cunning. They should not protest, unless they were strong-willed. They should not turn on him, unless they were able to kill him.

He greatly despised fools, like the one currently challenging him.

Miraak raised his staff. Though he could not see the flicker of fear in his enemy's eyes from such an angle, he knew it was there. Regardless, the mask before him stared impassively. The man charged abruptly, howling wildly, weapon raised. Was it a sword? Or a staff? A spear? He didn't know. He never looked because he did not care. Miraak unleashed his own attack.

Fire engulfed the challenger when he swung his weapon. Miraak's last impressions of the insignificant priest were of a lot of pain-filled screams, and a pile of ashes that drifted on the cold wind. He lowered his staff that still glowed with energy, gazing contemptuously at the pile of cinders that remained of his former opponent. He turned away, thoughts churning. The sunlight glinted on his golden mask, warming his blue robes. However, that warmth was hardly responsible for the burning sensation in his soul. Despite the end of the fight, the fire of the battle blazed on in his heart, ready for more.

He turned to the crowd of onlookers, all of their blank masks looking back. Silence had fallen over them. Their chant had ended appropriately with the death of the challenger. No one had expected a different outcome, he determined, and they shouldn't have. He raised his hands. He lead the men and women of this temple as High Priest here, ranking as a member of the Dragon Council - a Dragonlord. These priests who followed him, all were dedicated to the dragon they worshipped, and the temple itself was his own.

They would listen to him and remember what punishment lay in wait for those who housed defiance in their hearts to his rule .

"Does anyone else believe themselves worthy to take my mask, my staff, my very title?!" He demanded. When no one said a word, he continued, "look at what impertinence has cost one fool of a man!" He pointed to the ashes, which had stained the snow gray.

The smell of burnt flesh assaulted his nose, but he ignored the acrid scent; it only made him want to fight more. However, he needed restrain the wild feeling. He succeeded, through sheer practice, while his gaze raked the onlookers. Not a single word arose from them. It seemed to Miraak that there would be no more blood for this debate. _Typical._ After a moment, he faced away from them.

His eyes flashed quickly, still bright with the recent moment of danger, however quickly it'd been done with. He wanted dearly to actually _fight,_ though. He'd barely even tried, and the other was dead now. No one else would challenge him after such a display…

 _At least, not today._ _There are always fools to come._

It would have to wait until they forgot his power, and he'd have to remind them once again.

A deep rumbling resonated from nearby, the voice equivalent of a chuckle to express a dovah's amusement. The dragon perched on the nearby archway, balanced by his wings, situated comfortably. His tail curled down one of the long supports, the tip of it resting upon an altar carved into the stone. His scales were purple-white in hue, his eyes yellow. Long slits for pupils stared out at the scene before him. His wings rested languidly to the side, tattered with age. His black claws gripped the hold beneath him, gouging into stone easily. Horns curled around his head, and more jutted from his spine. He was not among the oldest of his kind, but he was impressive to look upon for his loud colors. Many dragons had muted scales.

The dovah spoke in his deep, carrying voice. " _Miraak, aar do dovah._ It seems your _suleyk_ holds mastery today." Miraak, servant of dovah, his power undenied.

" _Geh, Thuri Sosvulzein_." Agreement came from the servant.

A snort of fire puffed from the dragon's nostrils. " _Ful kos nii,_ Miraak. I am pleased...by the... _genun_." The dragon confirmed the argument and expressed enjoyment of the fiery display.

With that, the beast lifted itself upward, wings sending eddies of snow into the air. Miraak watched Sosvulzein's departure silently, his robes swaying in the wind. The rest of the priests and guards began to file out of the area, returning to the temple. The snow crunched under their heels, but other than that, not a single noise arose from them. Miraak watched their retreating forms, and his mind formed a single, fitting word.

 _Pathetic._

 _Of course none of the others would even try. If only I could fight someone with true power again... It's been so long. That fight would be a glorious and worthy battle, indeed._

Footsteps behind him rang in Miraak's ears, drawing his gaze. He saw a very familiar figure approaching him. He tensed, eyeing the newcomer with unease and gripping his staff tighter. He felt the wind gust through the arena, kicking up soft snow between them to blur the air for a few moments. The visitor wore dark crimson robes embroidered in golden threads woven into the shapes of flowers and small cages interlocking with each other. Impressions of vines lined his mask, curling up the sides. A purple aura surrounded the iron, indicating the magicka it held.

Miraak knew him all too well.

"Vahlok," he growled.

"Miraak," came the response he anticipated. Such conversation between them often became a sort of game - an unwanted game of hateful words.

Miraak felt the dark storm clouds of irritation rising in his chest. "What do you seek from me?" He asked tightly.

After all, this was his father, though it'd been a very long time since he'd spoken that word to him. He eyed Vahlok warily. Ever since he was old enough to think for himself, he'd always felt a little cautious. There was just something he couldn't place about the other priest that set him on edge. It was a combination of many known facts and many unknown secrets. He did, however, know with certainty that it related to the one question that had never been settled between them. The question was simple.

Who was the stronger?

That was Miraak's side of the problem, and he was itching to find out. He wasn't sure Vahlok reciprocated the curiosity, but if not, he was a fool.

Still, it was unlikely he'd ever find out the answer. They both held the same ranking on the Dragon Council, and there was nothing but punishment to be gained from defying the orders of the dragons not to fight one another. The council had sworn peace amongst itself long ago, if only to keep law in the wild lands of Keizaal. Besides, the dovah gods didn't appreciate the loss of worthy followers unless the reasons were their own.

Miraak's very blood always burned with the need to challenge, and more often than not, he found himself exerting great self-control to rein it in. At times, it took all of his strength not to try and provoke a fight. Otherwise, he would have challenged every other Dragonlord in Keizaal, which was the entire council. He was aware that would have indeed been foolish. Still, he had always been restless, even when he'd won the place he'd sought - a seat on the council itself. There was a certain lack of satisfaction that had made his victory stale not long after it had happened. There were no higher ranks to obtain, and it had suddenly left him empty and purposeless.

He refused such thoughts further, for they only fueled the fire in his heart and the irritation in his mind.

Vahlok waited a few minutes, as though sensing the readiness to fight in the other. When it didn't go away, he spoke. "I am here to bring you something."

That was unexpected. Miraak felt a little surprised.

The other proffered his hand and Miraak stared at it curiously. There may have been suspicion in his gaze, but the mask hid it perfectly. It seemed one of the functions of the object besides granting the wearer exceptional power was to alienate him from his fellow man.

In the palm of the older priest's hand, lay a small ring. The piece of jewelry was a dull brown-green color. A decorative jewel with the likeness of an emerald was carved into the shape of a skull, tentacles flowing from where its mouth should have been. The tendrils curved around each other to form the band. Oddly enough, it seemed vaguely familiar to Miraak.

"What a peculiar piece of jewelry," Miraak said before he could stop himself. "What is it's purpose?" He could feel the faintest hum of magicka resonating from it, barely noticeable.

"Well," Vahlok said. "I suppose I can fin-"

"Where did you get it?" Miraak demanded. "I feel I have seen it before."

"This came from the south. A small...trinket...from a...fellow priest who met death not long ago." He shook his head and continued. "I thought something strange like this might fascinate you."

It was, in fact, very fascinating to Miraak. He carefully hid his interest. There was another reason he disliked this man. He constantly seemed to pick up on the little things that others didn't think twice about. Miraak had to act carefully, or his intentions would be read as easily as a book.

"It is...odd." Miraak gave an inch.

He found he could not take his eyes off it. He peered at it through his mask, studying it without moving even an inch closer. He felt as if it called to him, urging him to claim it. His hand twitched, longing for it almost against his will.

Vahlok took notice of the faint movement. "I will take it then, if you would rather..."

"Well, Vahlok, it would be an interesting study, if you would part from it," Miraak said too quickly, already losing too much ground in their odd, verbal altercation. How he hated it!

Both glared at one another, almost hostile. Pride and ambition had widened the gap between them. Now there was a silent tug on the abyss as the two spoke circles around each other. The meaningless battle of clever human words was taking place. Miraak grew even more annoyed. He much preferred a physical fight to settle his differences with another; there was never uncertainty as to who was the winner, then.

Vahlok spoke, already setting invisible traps with his voice. "I brought it here first, for your examination. Why would I not be willing to part from it?"

"Then you wish to pass it to me?"

"I will, but do you want it?"

"Stop asking questions you know the answers to."

"I will...when you do."

Miraak felt his frustration starting to bubble up fully. He knew Vahlok was fond of reminding him constantly of his temper, simply by speaking like this. He couldn't see past that expressionless mask, but he knew a victorious self-assured smirk was tugging at the other's face. It had to be.

"This is ridiculous." He exhaled sharply.

"Miraak, you are not making your intentions clear."

Miraak lashed out venomously, having lost control of his anger, "you old fool! You know my intentions well! Hand the damned ring to me!"

He closed the remaining distance between them, glowering. Miraak could almost smell the blood he was more than eager to spill. Fire raced through his veins. Vahlok remained silent. The two never broke eye contact as the ring passed hands. Miraak struggled to contain his fury.

The other seized his wrist. Miraak tensed, ready to strike, but the older priest did not attack him. Warning glittered in Vahlok's pale eyes. The cold air felt oddly thick to the younger priest. He did not speak.

"Be warned. It will be your _undoing_ , Miraak," hissed Vahlok, releasing his hold. "But I have long since given up on trying to teach you anything. Perhaps you will learn, or perhaps you will not..." He spun on his heels and marched away.

The dragon priest clasped his new ring and felt an odd sensation wash over him. Vahlok's footsteps retreated away. Miraak looked at his new possession again, overcome with the desire to wear it.

 _Not yet... There is still much to do._

He placed the item in his pocket and made for the entrance of his temple. Two silent guards stood on either side of the grand doors.

The temple itself was a work of magnificence, inspired by Sosvulzein and some head priest long ago. The circular structure rested on the crest of a mountain range, balanced by tall supports imbedded in the earth. Beyond the impressive doorway, the majority of the temple led below ground. Outside was the arena, framed by pillars and carvings of the great Sosvulzein along with the altar and resting arch for the dragon. A large set of stairs led down to the pathway, with stones laid to ease the passage of those treading the rocky slopes. The path was marked with grand arches all the way up to the temple.

The chanting voices of the worshippers reached Miraak's ears from beyond the doorway. Inside his pocket, his hand fidgeted with the ring, but he finally released it, scowling as he blew off the last remnants of vexation that lingered from confronting Vahlok. He traipsed down the corridor inside, listening to the praising voices. The chants spoke of the mighty Sosvulzein and his winged glory, of how mortals feared him, of how other dovah respected him, and of how he was magnificent and powerful. Compliments and praises, most of which were probably lost on the one they were aimed at, rose in unified voices.

He strode into a vast chamber, his gaze drawn to the high ceiling above before dropping again. Just inside, a priest stood, admiring a carving that he'd likely already seen a hundred times. He started, turning to stare at the higher-ranking priest behind him.

Though his followers all wore nearly identical outfits, Miraak had become good at identifying those most loyal, mostly because he had ordered them to mark themselves very subtly. This man, for example, had a small crescent of white on his shoulder, doubling for a patch for a tear in the cloth.

"Brother Kreniik, gather a few of the guards to prepare the prisoners," Miraak commanded. "It will soon be time to start the trials."

"Yes, Lord Miraak, I'll alert the guards at once!" the man said. He turned, his robes swaying as he marched from the room.

Miraak crossed the large chamber, his footsteps ringing in his ears. Around him, several worshippers mingled, whispering. A few masks turned his way for a couple of moments, then back to themselves. He noticed their presence, likewise. It irritated him.

"Leave," Miraak commanded, "unless you have something to contribute to the upcoming trial."

"Yes, my lord Miraak."

They left without complaint, as they should. He watched them disappear soundlessly out of the chamber, the torchlight casting their tall shadows upon the wall.

Miraak walked into a circle of light glimmering down from the brazier close to his throne. He leaned his staff against the wall beside it. He turned his hand up, and opened his fingers. The odd ring glimmered in his palm, a dull orange color in the glow of the fire. He flipped it over, staring at the dark green gem. He reached with his other hand to his mask. He pushed it up onto his head, narrowing his gaze at his possession. His pale eyes scrutinized the object. When he focused on it, he could feel a tingling sensation in the atmosphere surrounding it - magicka, cold and dark, but much stronger than he remembered when it was resting in Vahlok's palm.

 _Interesting..._

Before he could further study it, he heard low voices echoing into the chamber. It was an easy mistake many made to believe these walls would silence sound. The truth was, voices echoed down the hallways and filled rooms long before the owners of them showed. If one spoke, his presence would be quickly noticed.

Miraak clenched his hand again and lowered his mask. He grabbed the staff and crossed to his throne swiftly. When he stood before it, he spun upon his heel and sat gracefully, leaning his weapon to the side. He waited there, bent forward, arms upon his knees. Soon, a torch bobbed into view in the passageway beyond. Two guards walked in, one carrying the light. The other was looking at the figure between them, his lips twisted into a sneer under his ramhorn helmet.

The prisoner was of a scraggly sort. Under his ragged and torn pelts, his ribs were highly visible ridges in flesh. His hair was greasy and thin, and unlike most of his kinsmen, his face was dotted with patchy fuzz instead of the typical flowing beards of his people. His gaze darted nervously, and he was conspicuously trembling. Bound by steel, he jangled loudly in a grating fashion with every step he took. The guards flung him to the ground several paces before the throne.

Miraak was silent, but his gaze was locked on the scrawny man. He folded his fingers together, growing bored quickly. He just wanted to be done with this so he could get back to his study of the ring, which was infinitely more interesting than these worn-out proceedings. He mentally shook away such a thought, knowing that it was a very irresponsible one. This was his duty to perform, and he'd be dead before anyone seriously questioned his ability to do it.

"Did you steal?" he stated very clearly and simply. "You are the thief they spoke of?"

"I...I...I..." The man swallowed nervously, standing up. The guards' gazes never left his back. The man fidgeted, rattling his shackles.

Miraak leaned against the throne. "I'm waiting," he warned.

"I..I did s-steal, s-sir, Lord Miraak, my lord. Please! I beg forgiveness."

Miraak almost cringed in embarrasment at the display, but merely said, "as I carry the law of Keizaal from the Dragon Order, there can be no forgiveness for criminals." Miraak had to admit, he still didn't have quite the right pitch in his voice, being the head priest. He wasn't feeling very righteous, he realized. He was feeling disgusted.

"My lord, I had lit-"

"Silence!"

The man quivered, but his protests ended in an instant.

"Take this one to the waiting cell," Miraak said dismissively. "He'll have to do for tonight. Bring in the other group..." His voice had all the enthusiasm of a chunk of ice.

The next group was bundled in unceremoniously.

 _We are unusually busy today,_ Miraak noted.

There were six guards now, spears and swords ready for any resistance. Four prisoners submitted reluctantly and were pushed to the floor onto their knees. The armored guards stood around them, tightening their grips upon their weapons.

"What is the charge?" Miraak queried. He'd not been informed of this one yet. It'd been quite odd, actually. No one had seemed to know what exactly the charge was that morning when he'd been informed of the extra prisoners.

"Treason," a guard hissed, eyes flashing behind his helmet. "These fools assaulted a patrol this morning."

One of the captives groaned loudly in what may have been misery. His eyes stared into the floor beneath him.

Miraak's body tensed where he sat. He leaned forward slightly. _Not often do we get traitors. Worthless. There is nothing more despicable than treason. These are the worst kind of fools._ He felt himself finally getting into his stride, a burning indignation in his veins.

A thin woman in rags flinched. "My hunters were compelled by evil forces!"

Miraak spat, "you were compelled to defy your rightful rulers? Have you no honor, that you'd pin the blame on another, _Nid-Gein_?!" Nid-Gein. It was a favored insult for demeaning the value of another, especially from a dovah or dovah sonaak - dragon priest - to a peasant. Its literal translation was, 'no-one'. He knew he had the right tone now!

A man screeched before she could reply. His eyes were wide. "Ahh! There's black things in my mind!"

"Slithering! Pinching! Clawing!" yelled another, sounding terrified, hitting the ground with his chained fists on each word. The guard near him raised his blade, but if the captive noticed, he gave no indication.

Miraak regarded these strange prisoners, suddenly feeling odd. This was certainly the first time he'd seen such behavior.

"The mouth! In the floor! On the ceiling! Through the walls, they climb!" Wide eyes turned above to stare at nothing above them. Horrified wailing exploded forth.

The woman shuddered. "See for yourself, My lord! My hunting party is claimed by a Daedra! They are mad! The work of Sheogorath surely!"

A gasp erupted from one of the guards.

"How dare you speak of such a demon here!" Miraak thundered, leaping to his feet. His hand fell to the staff he'd left nearby, unable to stop the impulse. He half expected the creature to appear to its name.

"It is truth!" The woman yelled, desperate. "Or I would not speak such! Treason was never intended! Why would we want such?!"

"For greed," said Miraak without missing a beat, beginning to feel certain that this was some elaborate trick to try and escape his justice. Still, it did not matter. Whether they were faking or not, he had to punish them. Exceptions were not made for _any_ criminal to the Order. The dragon priest retook his seat, watching the strange group silently for a moment. "As one of the priests of the _Dovah Relahmik_ , the Dragon Council, and upholder of the law, it is my task to pass judgment on you who have taken it upon yourself to defy your rightful rulers in the north. I hereby condemn you to..."

"No, no, no, no-"

"...punishment. May the dovah..."

"No-no-no-"

"..hear the pathetic cries of..."

"The barrow! My lord Miraak. I beg it! Seek the barrow under the Hill of Bones! You will understand!"

"Silence!" Miraak returned. He sat, stiff and uncaring. "Take them to the incineration chamber. This land does not tolerate traitors! Their charred flesh and screams of pain will please Lord Sosvulzein... _Dismissed,_ all of you."

" _No_!" the woman cried out, face full of anger and terror. "This is not right! You people! You have no mercy in your steel hearts! You priests are wicked! The dovah gods are cruel - they want for nothing but our blood and deaths! You are _all_ enemies to mankind!"

Miraak turned his gaze to a priest nearby, suddenly very certain the prisoners were indeed traitors. "Have the others begin preparations for the night ritual, Sister Laana. I must return to my chambers."

She assented and walked away to carry out the order.

Miraak's gaze was drawn down to his hand and with some surprise, he acknowledged what was in his palm. The strange ring from earlier sat there. He shifted it, thinking that he'd once seen it before, many years ago. He struggled to place it in his memory, but failed. There was just nothing in his mind that deemed it familiar, even though it _felt_ very much like it were. What he did know for certain, was that Vahlok was a fool for giving it to him.

* * *

.

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dragon language(dovahzul) translations -**  
 _  
Keizaal - Skyrim_  
 _Dovah - Dragon_  
 _Miraak(name) - Allegiance Guide_  
 _Tovitaa(name) - Seeker (I took a liberty with this name and took the 'n' off. The actual word was Tovitaan)_  
 _Aar do dovah. - Servant of dragon._  
 _Suleyk - Power_  
 _Geh, Thuri Sosvulzein - Yes, my overlord Sosvulzein_  
 _Sos-vul-zein(dragon name) - Blood-dark-worship_  
 _Ful kos nii, - So be it_  
 _Genun - Show_  
 _Vahlok(name) - Guardian  
Kreniik(name) - Breaker_  
 _Nid-Gein - No-One  
Sonaak - Priest  
Dovah Relahmik - Dragon council  
Laana(name) - to want_


	2. Journey into Madness

~D~

II. Journey Into Madness

(Wundaak kotin Vorohah-Rii)

Miraak stood with his gaze turned to the sky above, hand clenching the sacrificial dagger tightly. He felt his skin crawling with annoyance. It was a gnawing feeling, sparking impatience in his thoughts, and he couldn't focus his mind as precisely as he wanted to. He knew he had never been among the most patient or reserved men, easily agitated, like now. The ridiculous distraction came from behind him where the thief quivered. He could hear the vibrations ringing through the man's shackles as loud as a bell. Waves of irritation crashed through him like an avalanche. He clenched his jaw in frustration, casting a look behind him to the guards containing the captive.

"Silence! Noise is unnecessary!" he growled, eyes flashing under his mask. He turned his gaze back to the sky, struggling to focus.

His reprimand did little good. In fact, it seemed to make the situation worse. The shackles rattled even more loudly, and the metallic noise continued to ring in his ears. There was a thump and a gasp. One of the guards cursed about 'useless peasants'. He must have hit the prisoner. More rattling, and Miraak decided he was not going to get the silence he desired.

 _Nuisances…_

It was becoming hard to contain his steadily rising anger. Thankfully, the distraction was forgotten in a heartbeat. The welcomed roar in the distance rang from heavens of Keizaal, a wonderful sound in the ears of the impatient priest. The dragon responsible became visible in the sky, a dark spot above the horizon. Sosvulzein flew through the air, his wings beating the wind beneath him in grand sweeps. He roared again, closing the distance quickly between himself and the temple. Closer he flew, the setting sun casting his purple body in red with the evening light.

With another eager howl of might, he landed upon his usual resting arch. The ground shuddered under the impact, rumbling his presence. The dovah raised his wings, flapping them twice, scales gleaming. He balanced himself, leaning his head forward, yellow eyes upon the mortals.

" _Yein, Thuri Sosvulzein_ ," Miraak greeted.

The dragon snorted impatiently in response.

"Begin," The priest ordered the guards. He waved his hand stiffly at the altar. He was ready to stop the nearby trembling that had grown progressively more vexing. There was a clanking sound caused by the shackles hitting the ground. They were finally silent. Miraak nearly sighed in relief, but stopped himself. Assuming dignity, he straightened his stance more.

Sosvulzein spoke, " _eh, sonaak Miraak, nuk wah aam. Hi lost sahlag joor_."

The dovah was condescending of the weak sacrifice. Miraak had expected as much. Even he realized how ridiculous the gift was. What choice did he have, though? It was all day to day chance, anyone could be a criminal, and most were hardly dignified. Still...

"Thuri Sosvulzein. I have incinerated others. Their remains have been left upon the other altar on top of-"

" _Zu'u zent nii ful_ ," Sosvulzein hissed knowingly. "Incineration is the punishment of traitors. _Mahkur do vax muz. Pruzah. Zu'u bahlokus ahrk tiin do niri._ I shall return shortly." The dragon leapt off of his perch, wings lifting him up. He flew away, a burst of air pushing his bulky body through the atmosphere.

Miraak turned back to the others.

The thief fell to his knees, whimpering. He shook with fear, displaying it all on his wide-eyed face. The guards seized him and pulled him back to his feet. Callously, they dragged him to the altar underneath the dragon's arch. The thief thrashed wildly at first but went limp when one of the guards hit him again. They flung him against the stone. He collapsed there, begging desperately for his life. Miraak approached him, unsheathing the sacrificial dagger. He tossed the sheath aside and waited. The man was now howling in trepidation.

The dragon priest was more than eager to be done with this; the whole process was becoming embarrassing, though it often did.

Sosvulzein reappeared, his eyes alert. He landed upon the archway above the altar again, balancing himself with his wings. He twisted his neck down to absorb every minute detail of what was transpiring. A growl rumbled through his chest.

"Fear is strong in this one, _sonaak. Sahlag_." He spat, displeased at the offering before him. He turned his gaze to the criminal. " _Ofan vogahriin, balnu joor!_ Encourage my want to rip you apart, not my disgust! You are nothing, and you will pay your blood to I, SOSVULZEIN!" His voice roared. Apparently, his displeasure would not stop the proceedings. It never did.

The thief probably would have fallen over if he were standing. There was little he could do except plead. "P-p-please!... I b-beg f-forgiveness."

The guards held him, their gazes unreadable under their helmets.

"There can be none," Miraak said, drawing back the blade. He towered over the fearful thief. "Not from your rightful overlords!"

The dagger plunged, glinting in the light. For a minute, it froze, and the cold air, the dragon, and the men all seemed suspended in the same pose. Reality broke in, and the blade sank into the thief's chest. Crimson blossomed under the weapon, dark and rich. The thief coughed, a gurgling in his throat. The guards released him, stepping back. With a savage yank, Miraak pulled his weapon free. The criminal flailed in death's grip, his life force spilling upon the altar.

Sosvulzein's head flew back. He roared, the ground shaking from the force and volume. Whether the sacrifice had been worthless or not, the surest way to please a dovah was through blood and death, both of which the priests had delivered in the form of this criminal. Still gasping, the thief's eyes raised to the dragon. He bore the look of one who knew his death had just been confirmed, full of hopeless and thoughtless emptiness.

Sosvulzein leapt down from the perch, his claws gouging into the ground behind the altar. Miraak and the guards stumbled under wind generated by the huge wings. Before their eyes and just a few paces away, Sosvulzein's huge jaws descended. Within seconds, the dragon snapped the mortal up in his mouth, teeth crushing bone effortlessly. There was a muffled shriek. Yellow reptilian eyes raised, the legs of the thief hanging from the dragon's teeth. Blood spilled down his chin, dripping upon the altar. For a moment, he was still.

Miraak met the satisfied dragon's gaze. A cloud of smoke rose from the dovah's nostrils.

Sosvulzein lifted up, his prey in his mouth. Wings brushed the altar and the archway. He rose rather clumsily into the air from the cramped spot, his wings knocking one of the guards off his feet in an odd display. After a moment, the fallen guard picked himself up, groaning windedly. Miraak watched the god disappear into the darkening sky, undulating in the winds high above the ground.

A roar resonated not long after, and Miraak already knew that Sosvulzein had finished his meal.

* * *

Tree branches bent and groaned in the violent wind under their coatings of frost and snow, threatening to snap. The air blew sharply, mercilessly driving cold, stinging temperatures across the land. Miraak did not shiver, even though he recognized the night as bitter. He rarely felt the worst of the weather's chill anymore. It was cold enough, he noted, that the blood was frozen upon the sacrificial blade.

The fingers of his left hand were curled around the stained dagger loosely, and those of his right held onto his staff. He observed the sister moons, Rilahk and Nahkorah, which had risen in the sky, casting their pale light upon the world. The stars seemed far away, glimmering faintly. The dragon priest was reminded of another time in the past when he'd looked to the spaces above the world. It'd been a long while since that life had been in his thoughts.

One particular bygone evening lingered in his mind - the frosty dusk when he'd last heard his favorite verse recited by his mother so long ago, the one he could still recall with ease. It had been the beginning of his true life, his destiny of unforeseen power as a dragon priest. For reasons he did not understand completely, tonight felt similar to that fateful evenfall. He could not help but sense that the dawn, when it came, would herald great change for him.

Miraak stood in the great arena. He had not moved since he'd watched the dragon take the thief. The scarlet evidence of the sacrifice was upon the altar. The blood from the morning's fight still painted the ground, along with all the other mornings when fools felt the need to fight. The older stains were obscured, some more so than others by snow. The memory of it all made him feel alive. Here he stood, in the circle of slaughter that marked his existence. His life of destiny. That feeling set his blood afire with the need to fight and conquer, but his opponents were always worthless, his fights meaningless.

He felt the dagger he held slip from his fingers, landing in the snow. He clenched his fist.

For all of his thoughts on destiny, though, nothing had made him more than just another priest of the council. For all of his power, no great distinguishment had raised him in the eyes of the others. For all he'd been granted, he was reminded once again of how he yearned to make it more; how badly he longed to find what was truly waiting for him. It had to be more than empty fights and weak sacrifices.

Even though it was getting far more late than he typically stayed out, he still did not plan on returning to his chambers. No, a different intent held him at the moment, and he was not even slightly tired. There was that desire he'd not indulged in a long time, a curiosity burning inside, pushing him more and more to seek until he had little else occupying his thoughts.

 _This has come to me. A twist of fate._

Slowly, he opened his clenched fist and lifted the ring he did not remember retrieving from his pocket, but he knew he had done it. He admired it, watching it glint in the dull light. Yes, it was familiar, and no, he could not place why. However, he was completely unconcerned about its origins. He was only curious to its purpose. Though he'd yet to put it on, he knew that moment would be important. Its function would surely be revealed at that time.

Thoughts churning, he studied the odd design of it once again, tracing it with his finger. A strange magicka seeped from it like ooze. There was promise here, he sensed. A vow of power, strength, and certainty lingered over it. In another's hands, its gifts would be wasted. He intended to make sure that did not happen. It was his now and his alone.

Warily, he raised his gauntlet and held the ring up to the white light of the moons. He slipped it over his forefinger. At first, it seemed too small, getting caught halfway down. Then, the metal shifted before his eyes, and it fell in place neatly. His eyes widened ever so slightly, staring at this artifact of power. If there had been any doubts, they vanished. He was now fully convinced there was something very special in the odd piece jewelry.

After a moment, the first thing he felt beyond his musings was simple disappointment. Nothing happened. There was no rush of power. There was no dash of insight or shock of enlightenment. There wasn't even an extra spark of magicka from it to indicate an enhancing enchantment. He struggled to think of why it did _nothing_. Was it actually useless? Had the power he sensed been nothing?

It _had_ just conformed to his finger. It was definitely important. There was no other possibility.

 _Is there? What could it mean?_

Miraak became uncertain what to do. He had thought his night would be occupied unlocking this strange anomaly that would no doubt become his own exceptional weapon. Now, the doubts swirled angrily in his mind. He couldn't shake them away. He'd been duped somehow. A trick had been played!

 _To think that I painted Vahlok the fool for this... Apparently,_ I _am the fool! This was his trick all along! He knew I'd try this! He knew I'd stare stupidly at it, waiting for it to work... I'll bet he is very pleased with his success._

Miraak felt his mood darken, and he dropped his hand. The wind picked up, sending eddies of snow from the ground. He felt his robes sway. He concentrated on the cold and allowed his disappointment to drain. It was unimportant now, he realized. He would be more wary of Vahlok's odd tricks in the future. He would learn from it. His knowledge was an important weapon. He knew he may as well return to his chambers, there was nothing more to achieve here. Besides, there were still the rituals to be made with the first light, following the sacrifice of the dusk.

 _Cursed thief. Where are the worthy sacrifices? The great warriors of the north or the strange elves in the south? We have not had such deaths in so long, my predecessor oversaw them when I was younger. Those deaths pleased Sosvulzein, the demander of blood, geatly, more than the cringing fools of today. The dragon may find me wanting eventually…_

Sometimes there were others to kill. Occasionally, when there were no thieves, arrests were made without notable reasons. Men and women from nowhere would be dragged to their deaths, if only to stop the worship-hungry dragon from razing the temple for the failed duties of its priests.

Miraak was abruptly pulled from his thoughts. He felt strange. A buzzing, tingling sensation ran up his arm. There was a new light source at the edges of his vision. He looked down.

The ring was glowing.

He raised his hand slowly, turning it to examine the faint green light it emanated.

 _It wasn't a trick!_

"Show me!" he demanded.

It's light condensed to shine across the snow. It seemed to be pointing in a specific direction. He followed, feeling as if it were tugging him along. He did not hesitate. He was certain there was no time for caution, feeling the trip would be long. He had to find this ring's secrets and be back in the morning. He could sleep later.

For what seemed to be hours, he trekked the snowy hills, lead steadily away from his own temple. He was not concerned with becoming lost in the vast wilderness. He knew the area well. Not sure where he would end up, though, he plowed on through the cold snow, sometimes sinking up to his knees in it. The wind picked up even more quickly, gusting up from all around and disturbing the snow until it seemed like there was a blizzard in the clear night. Despite this, Miraak pushed on, never slowing his pace. He pursued the faint green light.

He came upon a landmark he knew well, but he had to clamber around it. It was a group of jagged rocks sticking from the earth like the fangs of the dovah he served. It marked the steep slope of rocks that led to an upper tier in the valley; this was the quickest way in the direction the ring indicated. He hauled himself up the ledges, gripping each one steadily until he made it to the top. Snow collected more abundantly on his robes during the ascent. The icy powder slowly melted from his body heat, lightly saturating his robes. The cold air was becoming hard to ignore when he was damp, and the light discomfort irritated and distracted him. He moved through the frozen landscape, maintaining a steady pace to keep the warmth in his limbs.

He tripped on a crevice opening into a jagged hole. Stumbling for few precarious seconds, he quickly righted himself, jerking back from the treacherous edge. Afterwards, he paid his footing more mind, even though it took more time away from him. He had no desire to take a nasty fall.

The twin moons were high in the sky when he clambered yet another hill, focused entirely upon the viridescent shine, his mind nowhere else. When he reached the top of the hill, the light he'd been so actively following started ebbing away. He watched, uncomprehending the significance of the flickering glow for a moment. Soon after, the luminescence faded away. The priest cursed in frustration, clenching his fist. The ring was dull, devoid of even the faintest glimmer.

"The day they granted such objects fallacy!" He snarled.

 _If this is Vahlok's doing…_ His thoughts trailed off. How could Vahlok accomplish such a stupid yet elaborate trick like this? It was ridiculous. No...he was missing something.

He looked up, and then in all directions. He glanced to the sky, finding his bearings from the stars. He faced south, knowing he'd been heading steadily north for the last couple of hours. For a minute, he considered backtracking. But what good would that do? The ring would just lead him back here. Maybe he should just turn around and return before he failed his morning duties. However, he'd already come this far, and he wasn't ready to give up yet. He decided to continue his search in the immediate area. If that failed, he'd leave. He took a step.

His other foot abruptly slipped in the cold snow, sliding off of something odd and smooth. He twisted, catching himself before he fell.

He stilled in realization.

He'd been so absorbed in his task, he had hardly noticed where he was. He felt astonishment, and wanted to check his assumption. Bending down, he cleared the snow away with hurried, swiping motions to uncover the object he'd lost his footing on. A large, gleaming-white surface was soon under his palm - the unmistakable edge of a white bone.

"The Hill of Bones..." he muttered. He stared at it, thinking.

It was said the dovah had once fought a terrible battle amongst themselves here long ago and that the remains had been dragged by the survivors into a singularly large pile - this hill. The mound itself was very large and hard to miss. However, buried under several layers of snow, it could easily be mistaken as another hill of soil.

Quickly, he half-slid, half-leapt down the side, tripping over the jagged remains underfoot and once again nearly taking an unpleasant spill, but he was undeterred. He couldn't stop remembering the crazed hunter's words from the trial, even if he had deemed them as unimportant at the time. He'd seen her as no more sane than her compatriots. Now though, the implications of the words were almost stunning...

 _"The barrow! My lord Miraak… Seek the barrow under the Hill of Bones! You will understand!"_

It rang loud and clear now.

 _"The barrow!"_

That's what she had said.

 _I do not know how, but somehow she knew about a power here and about the ring it is connected to... Is that what caused the hunters so much trouble? That is why they turned on the guards and attacked them? What power must be here to incite rebellion in the feeble minds of the weak!_

He was not a fool. He could handle whatever was here. Obviously, it'd corrupted the minds of the others, but the weak would forever be susceptible to losing themselves. Despite this thought, he could not shake the feeling that he was forgetting an important detail from the trial. He'd not absorbed even half of what they said.

 _It is not important… I must find whatever this…'barrow' is. Too much time has already been wasted._

Miraak felt his confidence return. Determined, he scoured the base for anything that would indicate what might be his destination - the barrow or some metaphorical equivalent. It was possible, he knew.

The world began to dim around him. The dragon priest glanced up. Smooth gray clouds rolled across the sky, blocking the moons and stars. The wind whipped even more snow into the air.

 _A snowstorm most likely..._

The dragon priest persisted though he could barely see. He stopped long enough to allow magicka to flow through his staff. It lit up, shining in the darkened world. A glowing ball of white light drifted into the air, bobbing serenely. He let his magicka recede, commanding the light to follow him. After a moment, his search seemed to yield a result. A small stone about twenty feet from the mound caught his attention. He moved towards it, plunging into snow up to his waist. He waded towards the stone, hoping that it would be what-

The ground fell out from underneath of him. He dropped down, the sudden descent stealing the breath from his lungs. He landed harshly upon something, but the object seemed to absorb the impact of his fall. He took a moment to roll sideways, breathing carefully. A dull ache made itself known in his side. He grunted, staring up at the wispy light from his spell floating down towards him loyally. He paused and collected himself.

 _What did…?_

A glance sideways revealed what had broken his fall - a dead body.

He didn't mean to push up so quickly, but it had surprised him in spite of himself. He calmly brushed wet snow from his robes and collected his staff. He silently assessed the situation. A flight of stairs led up to the level of snow he'd just fallen from, mostly buried beneath the white layers. Nearby, a carved, metal door imbedded in a stone wall seemed to lead under the mound of bones, made nearly invisible by the drifting white. However, it looked like it'd been opened recently.

 _The barrow...under the hill. Did the dovah gods hide this place themselves with the bones of their fallen foes? If so, then should I leave it be?_

Ridiculous. If the dovah had hid it, it was not to deter men from seeking it, but to test whoever did. The hunters from earlier had obviously failed that test.

He had found this place, but he was now convinced there would be more to this test than that. He shifted from foot to foot at the thought. The reward would be undeniably beneficial. He almost felt his heart skip. He was far more excited over this than he had been about anything else in years.

He made for the doorway, wary. With effort, he pulled it open and pushed it back. Remembering his earlier assessment of snow, he glanced at the sky. He left the door propped open, not wanting to get snowed into the strange chamber and trapped.

Once inside, he gave the small hovering light a bit more magicka when it threatened to flicker out. He then made his way through a small, chilly corridor. The walls were close and covered in frozen condensation. There were a few bodies lying here, but for the most part, he was focused on watching for traps or creatures that may have killed these weak hunters. Fortunately, nothing impeded his progress.

Soon, he was greeted by a circular chamber where he silently observed the odd architecture for a moment. It was not like the temples that those of Keizaal built. Instead, there were interlocking bars of steel overlaying stone. Along the edges of this chamber were long lattices of metal weaving up to the ceiling. However, the round metal floor held what was most interesting. In the center was a stand with a small handle, revealed by his floating light.

The amount of bodies surrounding the switch caused Miraak to hesitate.

He knelt down and examined the body closest to him, turning it over and pulling back the fur hood. There was no indication of trauma upon the frozen skin. No wounds showed, and there was no evidence of what had killed the man. Perhaps these people had been snowed in and starved. Or even frozen in the depths of this place. It was definitely a cold enough. Still, Miraak felt that was not the correct reason. He tensed with nerves.

The dragon priest spent a few moments placing wards along the floor near the stand. He summoned a barrier around it for extra protection from possible projectiles or magicks. Of course, it was not infallible, but it should be enough. When he was finished, he seized the handle, pulling it down. The ring upon his finger started glowing that murky green color again. He released his grip in surprise. The color crept through the handle and spread down the pedestal containing it, which became illuminated. Unbidden, a dark chill crept down his spine.

 _What foul magicka is this?_

A piece of metal on the far side of the chamber fell back, revealing a small, hidden passage. A slight, crazed noise carried out from this passageway and Miraak whipped his staff before him, listening closely. His right hand nearly went to the sword at his waist, but he restrained it. Swords were a last resort for a priest, unnessary in this moment. The noise sounded like laughter, but more distorted, strange. With his weapon brimming with magicka, he stepped forward, eyes narrowed. He was alert, on edge, even, ready for anything that might present itself. He crept down the murky, foreboding corridor, stepping along the grated floor. When he peered down, he could see dark ice beneath it. His breath plumed in the air, too loud for his liking.

Another chamber resided at the end of this passage, waiting. Here, a strange greenish mist rose from the ground. He tensed as the cackling resounded again, seeming to bounce around the room. The chamber smelt faintly of burnt leather, stale water...and blood.

Movement grabbed Miraak's attention. He glanced towards it, trying to keep his caution from exploding into action. More movement. A mad chuckle escaped the small, hapless form huddled in the back. It shuddered violently. The dragon priest focused upon it, intrigued and uncertain.

"Show your face!" Miraak commanded, his irritation increasing. Whatever the creature was, he wasn't going to put up with this furtiveness. He vaguely wondered how it had gotten in here.

Two wild, dark eyes looked up through a mass of gray hair. The hair trembled, as if it were an animal all of its own, breathing in terror. It was impossible to tell if the scrawny shape was male or female. Tattered pelts clung to the emaciated form, further adding to the lack of identifiable traits, and a rasping laughter escaped its mouth.

Words left it in a cold, empty voice, "dark, clawing pincers...slimy black waters...old one… Gardener of men… Pain. All in one. Everything you hate, but want. Temptation...truth is cold...unkind...cruel."

"What is it that you say?" Miraak didn't let his guard down as he eyed this strange creature before him.

"The keeper of fates...knowledge...hehehehe," it giggled. A thin arm and hand seemed to appear from its body and pointed behind it. Miraak's gaze was drawn to the caged door there in the wall. "I took too much...motr than I was not ready for...dark whispers...ancient promises...if only I had...more power. More thoughts, words, whispers, knowledge." Another distorted chuckle followed.

Miraak's eyes were only for the prize that must lay beyond this...thing.

"Out of my way, creature, or I'll leave your ashes as an offering to the gods."

The small form laughed, which became a raucous cough. It wheezed, then murmured, "don't let me get in the way. The knowledge calls to all, but few can reach it. None that I know, anyway..."

Miraak raised his hand, impatient, ready to turn this creature to ash. He noticed the ring was glowing again, brighter than ever before. It caught his attention, stopping his actions.

"But, why, you have a _key_!" it howled so loudly, its voice cracked. "I could never reach the book...not that one needs to...to see...one only needs to think enough…"

Miraak started forward, no longer bothering to grace this thing with the dignity of his attention. It scrambled out of the way. He reached the door. Examining it with the magick light, he found a small hole. He placed his fist up to it, and the ring fit the slot perfectly. Again, the odd, green magic extended outward and the door glowed. It opened in an unimpressive manner, creaking loudly in the chamber. Inside was a large, black book, sitting on a pedestal that was much designed like the one the handle in the previous chamber had been on.

Instantly, the priest knew he'd found his prize. The magicka resonated from it strongly, nearly stifling to his tuned senses.

"At last. It is mine. I knew the ring had more to it than Vahlok revealed," he said to himself.

Dark whispers seemed to flow from the tome, promising all of its power. The intrigue caressed his mind, warming his desire to know, to learn. All that it offered, it could make him more. Everything he'd ever sought was right here waiting for him.

He pulled the cage closed behind him, wary of the odd creature sneaking up on him. It clicked shut, unopenable without the ring. Then, he reached out and grabbed his reward. The flow of eagerness racing inside his veins increased now that the tome of power lay in his hands. Yes, this would make him stronger. Feared and respected, he could not be forgotten after this night. He would find his destiny.

This book was the answer. It may take time to decipher all of its secrets, but he was willing to take that time to gain its knowledge.

He opened it eagerly, feeling the magicka flow out of its cover like a black wind. The text moved and swirled amidst the pages. It was impossible to focus on a single moving phrase written in a language so odd, he didn't recognize it. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief. Sentences under his scrutiny morphed into large, green tentacles and slid from the pages. They coiled around him before he could comprehend what was happening or even begin to resist. A dark chuckle resonated from the room. He struggled, but couldn't move. He was frozen for a few terrible seconds. Then, his consciousness faded to black.

* * *

.

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dragon language translations -**

 _Sonaak - Priest_  
 _Sahlag - Pathetic_  
 _Eh, sonaak Miraak, nuk wah aam. Hi lost sahlag joor. **-** Ah, priest Miraak, ready to serve. You have pathetic mortal._  
 _Zu'u zent nii ful. - I expect it so._  
 _Mahkur do vax muz. Pruzah. Zu'u bahlokus ahrk tiin do niri. - A pile of traitor men. Good. I (am) hungry and weary of my hunt._  
 _Ofan vogahriin, balnu joor! - Give defiance, worthless mortal!_


	3. Master of Knowledge

~D~

III. Master of Knowledge

(In do Mindah)

Miraak's eyes flew open, heart pounding. His hands lashed out before him, laced with magicka and intent on resisting whatever attack was upon his person. Empty air greeted him. He quickly realized there was nothing to fight. Dropping his arms, he stared into the glowing green sky above, breathing evenly and collecting the thoughts swirling uncontrolled in his mind.

 _What happened?_

This was definitely the first time he'd experienced anything like this.

He sat up too quickly, the strange world spiraling for a minute. His vision swam, and he put a hand to his masked face, leaning his forehead into it. Gradually collecting himself, he raised his eyes to examine the odd environment. He quickly noticed the absence of the chill that had been in the passage. This world was cold in a different way, not as uncomfortable, but nevertheless noticeable. It seemed to sharpen his thoughts to fine points, increasing his concentration. It wasn't just the temperature, however, as the design of the physical also contributed to this.

A glance to his hands and what lay beneath them revealed strange architecture like that he'd seen in the passageway. It stretched outward into a platform. Under the lattice-style metal resided dark-green liquid that sloshed in waves. Landing on the metal and sweeping up into the air again on invisible winds, were pages of books that drifted down from above, drawing his gaze higher. The parchments swirled in the sky, crackling with movement and covered in small indistinct writings and phrases. He looked off into the distance, where the world seemed to be miles of jade-colored waters with pillars, islands, and arches of books rising sporadically throughout

He could hear his own pounding heart almost too loudly, as if his hearing had just been enhanced. Above that noise, was a sound similar to rain, originating from nothing obvious. Perhaps it was the fluttering books and parchments in the atmosphere? He struggled to grasp it.

"Where...am I?" He breathed softly through the mask. His fingers curled around the grate as he steadied himself, trying to recover from what had happened. His mind reviewed the odd occurrences leading up to his...teleportation to this place. He was confident in his recollection until he called to mind the memory of the reading. There, he mentally balked.

 _Did that book...grab me? Indeed. It must have transported me somewhere... But where?_

He would be very displeased if there was no sign of escape from this place that he'd entered in his pursuit of power. He hissed a little in irritation. How did he leave this...wherever he was? This weird land of paper and green? It was, as he tried to mentally solve the mystery, a calm, clear voice that spoke in a deep tone and interrupted his thoughts.

"You...are in...my realm now... _Apocrypha_ ," it drawled.

The words were so surprising, that Miraak started. His face turned upward to the obvious source. His eyes immediately landed upon the large mass of tentacles in the sky. There was a huge eyeball amidst them that had double pupils. There were too many other eyes surrounding it, small and cunning, floating disconnected. Large claws were interspersed throughout the tendrils. Pincers slashed together, adding a clatter that rang sharply with each movement. The creature seemed to be pouring halfway out of a black abyss, the full view of it lost in the depths. Even though it was visible before him, Miraak could sense its dark presence everywhere like a large set of roots tangled in the spaces around him - a veil thrown over this space like an obvious roof and walls - no, a cage.

 _"Tentacles! Claws! Pincers!"_ The traitor had said.

 _It is a Daedra! A trap! This must be the creature's domain!_

Miraak summoned flame to his hands. He pushed himself up, pulling his fire from within so that it burned strongly. He felt weaker than normal in this daedric realm, especially without his staff, but that didn't mean he was going down without a fight.

" _You_!" he hissed. "You _...demon_! You turned those hunters! You have trapped me here!"

"It is no-"

"I will not hear your foul words, demon!" Confident in his claim, he increased the power of the flames in his palms, calling on the power of his mask. He felt the magicka burning on his fingers, nearly scorching his gloves with their intense, restrained fury. "I am not so easily swayed! Some may be that weak, but I am not!"

Huge fireballs soared forth with deadly intent, leaving streaks of smoke in their wake. The creature seemed to evaporate like fog, the world empty where it'd been. Despite this, its presence lingered around him, even as Miraak felt it fade slightly. His attack sailed through empty air. The tentacled, clawed creature slowly reformed before him again. How it looked like the spawn of the most grotesque creature to ever exist! Miraak thought in disgust.

"As I was _saying_..." came the Daedra's ponderous voice.

"Hold still, cowardly being!" snarled the dragon priest.

The air weighed heavily upon him, sapping at his strength even as he called on it. It was as though the very world were dampening his power. Miraak refused to let that hinder him. He locked his attention upon the demon in determination. He pulled more fire from within, concentrating on his magicka. He narrowed his icy eyes, blood boiling with the desire to destroy the abomination before him. He mentally strained as he called every ounce of power he had left to him, hissing with the effort. Something else uncoiled inside. It felt as if a violent dragon head reared angrily within. It was strange and powerful. Miraak felt as if it had always been there.

"It appears...that words will have to wait..." The Daedra said, voice vexingly unperturbed.

With a cry of pure defiance, Miraak felt something new. Something foreign and amazing to himself. His thoughts raced free, swirling with a new comprehension. It was the most incredible moment of glory he'd ever had. With it all, he realized he'd never fall. The dragon's jaws opened and a Thu'um - a dragon Shout - spilled forth with all the power and glory of his masters!

" _YOL TOOR SHUL_!" Miraak unleashed his pent up energy in a wave of deadly fire

It tore from him, more power than he'd ever thought to use in his life. His strength waned in the wake of its use. What was more, though, he felt alive and full of purpose. He was instantly amazed. He lost track of his attack's progress in his incredulity.

 _Was...that...the Thu'um?!_

How could it be possible? He knew of men who could Shout, their voices capable of focusing their willpower and magicka while breaking forth with impressive power. Almost all of the council members could Shout. He'd witnessed such power before, but had never been able to conjure it himself. Unfortunately, a dragon was required to teach a mortal how to turn their voice into a deadly Thu'um attack, and it usually took years to master it. Mortals were not naturals at the power of the Thu'um, and he had never had the honor of learning it. Again, how could it be?

He felt the dragon within him burn, and he knew the truth. His soul was powerful. He'd Shouted, alone, without help. He was impressed with himself and immensely proud. He'd heard many Shouts before, so maybe that was the reason. With his amazement fading, he felt confidence. His attack had been propelled by his own skill and strength, and it was all he needed. It was the only explanation that made sense.

 _I am powerful._

Unfortunately, his wonder was short-lived. The counter attack from the Daedra was swift, brutal, and absolutely merciless. A tentacle speared into his stomach. It was with shame, that Miraak realized he had been caught completely off guard. He looked down, cold fatigue filling him. He was mildly surprised that there was no blood from the wound. He slumped forward, unfamiliar pain burning in his body. His limbs were numb, useless. The dragon within bowed in defeat.

"Miraak...dragon priest...but... _dovahkiin_ as well." The huge eye blinked. "The dragons have no secrets...no. Nothing is hidden from me. But this they do not know either. It is through fate, that you find yourself here... Hmmm... _Interesting_..."

 _He was completely unaffected by that attack_ , Miraak realized dimly.

He hardly noticed when the tentacle pulled away from him. He hit the ground, unable to move for some time.

The Daedra continued to speak, "my curiosity is fulfilled, and I see the fire in your heart has been temporarily...doused."

The will to fight had indeed seeped out of him, and only the dimmest embers remained. There was no glory now, only sharp humiliation at having fallen so quickly. The dragon inside was no longer obvious to him, obscured by his failure.

Miraak pushed himself up again, grunting in effort. His limbs felt heavy and cold, trembling with the extertion of merely standing. When he looked down to examine the damage, there was still no evidence of a wound to show the recent attack. The Daedra had harmed him in a way he didn't understand. The rules in this world were different, apparently. A physical fight would never go in his favor in this draining, cold dimension. He met the monstrous eyeball's gaze. Now more calm, he noted just how _strange_ it looked.

"I imagine...there's a reason for this..." Miraak spoke. There was hope of survival, here, if he were careful. Surely, if the daedra had meant to kill him, he'd have been dead with that last attack.

"There is... _always_ a reason, Miraak."

The dragon priest straightened, trying to pull himself back together. He tried to recall the feelings that had been suppressed, knowing they had fueled his confidence. While doing so, he muttered, "I never spoke my name." There was something wrong, he knew, and he was trying to determine what. Where was that dragon inside?

"You...did not have to... I saw all of your thoughts just now."

Miraak frowned. He did not like to think that the privacy of his mind had been so calmly invaded. It was one of the few things he had and treasured. His mind was a safe haven where whatever he desired to think could be thought without fear. Even those around him would never truly know what he thought unless he shared it with them. He wasn't prepared to share his thoughts with any other being - especially with a Daedra. His annoyance was struggling to surface again.

"What do you want?" The dragon priest asked, not completely irritated...yet. Where was his fire?

"I will introduce myself first. No reason...to hasten this...conversation. Behold, mortal, you stand in the presence of the daedric master of the tides of fate! Keeper of knowledge and memory! I am Hermaeus Mora!"

The pride and arrogance of the creature shouldn't have been surprising, but Miraak was a little peeved by it. Why did this thing act as if it were a god? This...anathema? And yet, it was very powerful... He shook his head. No, it merely played by different rules. Whatever else it thought it was, he cared not. It was a Daedra first and foremost, and he refused to be impressed in any way by it.

He pulled his thoughts from Hermaeus Mora and let his mind focus on any possible escapes. Looking around, there was no indication of anything that would free him of the green, desolate world. That didn't mean there weren't any, but he got the feeling he wouldn't leave until the Daedra allowed it. With disappointment, he turned his attention back to the creature, trying not to feel apprehensive in the knowledge of his imprisonment. Apprehension did not fit him. He sorely desired to feel his anger again, for it was far better than any level of fear.

Hermaeus Mora said, "...you...are a... _special mortal,_ Miraak, imbued with the soul of your...well... _gods_."

"What nonsense do you speak now?" Miraak snapped.

"The voice...of the dragon. You spoke it, without training. You felt it...the soul of a dovah. _Dovahkiin_... All of your life it lay in wait, and...the knowledge of my realm awakened this inborn ability... Words you had heard from others became your _Thu'um_ , with my help, of course."

"The word... _dovahkiin_." Miraak shook his head. "Dragonborn? That is both ridiculous and impossible. No one can match the dovah! I may be powerful...but I am still mortal. Only the dovah may teach their Words of Power...do not claim yourself responsible for my Thu'um just now!"

Still, he knew that it hadn't come from a dragon's teachings. The next logical place it may have originated from, was this world. In his more sedated state, he knew it had not just came from himself in a moment of skill... This place, Apocrypha, the daedra had said...Hermaeus Mora's realm - his knowledge. And why not? He claimed to be the keeper of knowledge. Still, Miraak didn't like to think that his power may have been influenced by this creature in any way.

The Daedra's tone still had not changed. "And yet, the doubt in your words is strong...is it not? Your conviction has the strength of the peasants you deem pathetic."

"I...I refuse to believe these...lies. You are an evil spirit! A deceiving, conniving creature! I demand that you release me at once!" Miraak could think of nothing else to say. He was beginning to feel very uneasy.

Hermaeus Mora ignored his demand. "Then ask yourself," he continued. "...could you destroy Sosvulzein?"

"That is ridiculous. Now, if it would not be too-"

"And yet the power to kill the dragon lies within you."

Despite his defiance to the very idea, and how hard he was trying not to give it too much thought, Miraak felt that uncertainty shift in his veins. The fire in his blood was slowly re-igniting itself, filling him with indignation. The dragon was rising again, ready for more, but the fight had shifted. He wanted to face something else, though he was not sure what, and tear it apart. Something was wrong. Something had happened, and he was quite suddenly beyond anger. His fear and uncertainty vanished in the boiling sensation in his gut.

A dragon's power was in him...just as Mora had said.

The Daedra continued, words softening in a persuasive tone. "To think, the Dragon Order would dictate you bow to a _beast_ , when you are actually his better."

Miraak, feeling nothing but turmoil crashing through him, stated, "you are fond of inventing lies, Daedra. Do not believe you have my mind. Manipulation will not win for you now. Talk all you desire." Miraak felt his confidence grow as he spoke, even if every other emotion he was experiencing was rising with it. "It will _not_ confuse me! Now, let us finish this. We agree you cannot manipulate me, so you'll either have to kill me, or send me on away. Which is it? Be warned, I will fight better next time." He prepared himself, feeling the buzz of electricity under his fingertips.

The Daedra seemed to ignore him again. "Of course, mortal words would not convince you, would they... _dovahkiin_? But perhaps, the words of your gods would...then take this as an... _investment..._ on my part..." There was a pause, and then, he spoke, " _Mul Qah Diiv_."

Miraak felt a tingle of power, and knew there was something to this knowledge that even he could not deny - a cold doubt that had always lingered with him through his life. Now there was a chilly certainty, that somewhere, there was a lie. A lie he'd lived since he'd joined the Dragon Order. He felt sudden and unforgiving certainty, and the electricity he'd been ready to fight with faded slowly.

 _Mul Qah Diiv._

The phrase branded itself into his blood, his soul. Learning its meaning was as natural as breathing or walking. Yet...he couldn't believe that he was stronger than the gods themselves. He was stronger than his fellow men, he knew. But the strength of a dovah?

 _Absolutely absurd. This ridiculous Daedra, trying to force me to have unwanted thoughts..._

 _These words, though, they must be another Shout. Why would this creature teach me a Shout? Could there be truth to its words?... It is not a dovah, but it knows the Thu'um well enough to educate me in its Words. But not merely educate...impart. It should take years. Hearing such a phrase should not be enough..._

 _No...this realm has taught me in a matter of seconds when its master chose to_ impart _such knowledge._

Miraak was purely angry for countless reasons. He refused it all, his pride barring him from it. He refused to believe that he'd lived a lie. He refused to believe that the immortal gods could truly perish to mortal might. He didn't want to believe that they were weak and worthless after everything he'd done in their service. He didn't want this dark creature poisoning his mind.

 _It's lies! It has to be!_

The great eye blinked. "Take from it...what you will, _dragon priest_." The words 'dragon priest' were said almost like an insult. "Just ask yourself...will you be content to bow to those weaker than you for the rest of...your rather...short, mortal life?"

Miraak stood there, uncertain. This was not what he'd anticipated when he'd followed the ring. He'd sought power, true...but this...this was a Daedra. It was trying to make him forget himself… But perhaps it was merely sharing the truth. Perhaps it only wanted him to understand the lie. It was the keeper of knowledge. Why wouldn't it use that knowledge?

And he felt his entire world dividing in that moment.

"I am..." he trailed off, unable to form a proper response when his warring thoughts and emotions tumbled within him. His dragon was back, and he felt it wanting to fight the dovah. How strange it felt! He didn't know if he could resist its desires. But to attack a dovah was unthinkable! In fact, the thought sent a horrified shudder through him... Or it would have, if he was not so consumed in anger. He'd always felt discontentment in his role, even if it were one of power and prestige.

 _Is it because...?_

"You are stubborn..." Hermaeus Mora said. "Perhaps there is something else to convince you."

"What?" Miraak snapped, blood afire.

A great wind of power washed through him, and he blinked in surprise. Apocrypha faded, and he saw something else entirely.

 _He stood upon a balcony on a towering temple, outfitted in splendid blue and gold attire not unlike his usual robes. Upon his head, instead of a mask and hood, was a heavy crown, enchanted to enhance his power. On either side of himself, he could see two guards, holding banners with a dragon symbol upon them. Before him, far below, an army of both men and dragons stretched far into the distance and stood at attention; they looked to him. They seemed to be waiting for his command. They stood together, side by side, equals under him. He could feel their eyes upon him, admiring, revering. He knew he had found his power..._

Miraak was pulled back to Apocrypha, surprised and confused. _Dragons serving me? That was..._

"That was destiny?" Miraak asked, the dragon in him already believing, even if his mind did not.

Hermaeus did not answer his question, and instead said with finality, "leave, Miraak...return to the lie you live."

Then it was all fading, melting away, and his consciousness barely had time to register that it was slipping again. Blackness was all he knew after a moment. Then, he knew nothing.

* * *

Miraak reeled away from the book as if burned. It was now closed and on its pedestal. His eyes were wide under the elaborate mask, and his blood was burning viciously. He leaned against the cage behind him, inhaling slowly. The glow of his magicka light brought a sense of reality to his mind. The dragon within snarled indignation.

 _How dare that... Daedra! That...was incredible. The vision. The knowledge. The power._

Slowly, he leaned forward and walked, snatching his staff from where he'd sat it. He raked his gaze over the black tome. He should leave it, forget it. He should pretend he'd never stumbled upon it. He should pretend he'd not spent his night searching for power. He should pretend that he'd never spoken with a Daedra Lord. He should pretend that he had merely been dreaming up the encounter. He should forget it all…

His gloved hand snatched the book, and he thrust it under his arm. He _should_ forget it, but he could not. Now that he was here, the truth seemed clearer than ever. His eyes were bright as he turned on his heel. He had the book, its promise of power far more alluring than he had once thought. The ring had truly been far more incredible than Vahlok had ever imagined, he knew. He burst from the caged door. It smashed upon the wall in a loud bang. He strode forward, confidence filling him. He was dovahkiin. His blood and soul were dovah.

Dragonborn. Unstoppable. All-powerful.

He'd never fit his role in the order, because of who he was. Apocrypha had shown him truth.

The crazed wail broke through the air, interrupting his thoughts. " _NO!_ You cannot steal it! You thieving little thief!" It was the ragged form of the odd creature that he'd spoken with previously.

"I do not have time for you!" Miraak snarled.

He turned. The animalistic thing was charging at him, hands out, fingers arched like claws. It seemed more an act of desperation than a true attack. He did not care. His staff glowed bright white. There was a burst of ferocious electricity. Sharp screams split the air and flesh melted before the attack. The thing writhed, its voice fading. All at once, the light disappeared. There was a clatter as the fleshless bones hit the floor. The skin's ashes drifted almost lazily down a few moments later.

A harsh blizzard was already sweeping across the land when Miraak emerged from the doorway imbedded in a pile of snow. He swept up the steps, forcing more power into his strides to compensate for the high winds and deep condensation. He was soon on his course back to the temple. It was a harsh trek, but he was undeterred from his mission. The cold was barely noticed, even as he strained through the weather.

It was well into the morning when he arrived at the temple. He could tell by the lightening sky above and the increasing visibility in the snowy air. He'd already missed the dawn rituals, but he could care less. Sosvulzein would surely try to punish him later, but he now knew the beast had not the power to do so.

 _It was worth it..._

Miraak approached the temple upon the mountain ridges, traipsing up the steps on the main path.

He first saw a figure on horseback sitting at the entrance, barely visible in the snow. He felt curiosity at the sight. Who would that be? When he got closer though, he wished he'd arrived later and missed the other altogether. He was not in the mood to exchange barbs. No, he had more important matters to attend to.

Vahlok sat astride the small, but bulky and proud horse before the grand doors. Had he not left after yesterday? Or had he returned? Why? The dragon priest dismounted, steadying the animal with a few calm words. He turned towards Miraak, lifting his chin, prideful.

 _Here it comes._

"What have we here?" The voice was condescending in Miraak's ears. "You've been running about on foot in this? To what end?"

"None you need to know about," Miraak replied sharply.

"What is that in your hand?" He gestured at the book. Miraak automatically moved his arm to hide it better.

"None of your concern. What are you doing back so soon?"

"Changing the subject? Figures. I was caught in the storm. I did not want to freeze, naturally, so I returned. I will wait out the storm here."

"If you must."

Vahlok stood before him, his eyes narrowed behind the mask. The two glared at each other with their usual hostility. Surprisingly, Miraak gave way first. "I don't want to do this now, Vahlok. I am actually in a hurry!"

"Your stables are incompetent, as usual. No one has come to take my horse. I suppose I will have to go rouse some lazy stablehand?"

"Then get out of my way, if you are to do so!"

The other was about to reply, when something grated across Miraak's ears.

The chants echoed through the temple, and into the morning. The priests must have started the second rounds of praising without him. They had feared the dragon too much to wait for their head priest's return to start the rituals. It was possible Sosvulzein was completely unaware of his negligence. Still, he would allow no more praise to the beast. Apocrypha had proven the truth to him.

Miraak hissed. "Silence them!" he snarled abruptly, not quite thinking about _who_ he was speaking with for a second.

"What!?"

He charged towards the temple, anger fueling him. No more would he pay tribute to the dragon and his falsehoods. His blood told him he was right, and the temper of his soul only served to fuel the resolve that had waned before. He rushed through the corridors until he reached the inner sanctum where the other, lower priests had gathered to sing the chant. Their voices were almost eerie when he burst into the room. A few gazes turned towards him in surprise.

Miraak thundered, "SILENCE! OR BY MY POWER, I WILL SMOTHER YOUR VOICES MYSELF!"

The voices failed in pure non-comprehension to the order. The entire room was tense, but silent. Never in their life had anything so odd or heretical happened. Their empty masks stared at him, speechless.

Miraak stared back in righteous outrage. He spoke, "you have been _lied_ to, brothers and sisters! The dragon is false! His life is as fragile as ours, and I will prove to you so." He slammed the black book onto a table nearby, finally realizing he still held it. "Sosvulzein feeds on your blind worship! As his name states! Dark-Blood-Worship! No more, must we give to him! Today will see the end of this lie! The dovah are not gods, and if they are...then so am I!"

There were gasps of horror at such blasphemy.

"WATCH TODAY, BROTHERS AND SISTERS!"

Miraak stormed away, leaving the others behind. The trip down the winding corridors was smooth and easy. No one was here. He was glad the others obeyed, for he heard no chant follow his progress. He burst outside.

Vahlok was waiting, his horse was gone, probably in the stables by now. "Are you both stupid and _insane_?! To stop the ch-"

"No, Vahlok, my mind and my vision are both perfectly clear now. More so than ever before."

"Words often spoke by madmen," Vahlok retorted. "It seems you will finally meet your end today." He shook his head. "Foolish boy."

Miraak walked swiftly to the arena, and he was acutely aware of the discomfort rising from the other priests and guards when they began to gather nearby to see what became of their leader's defiance to the dragon. Miraak inspected them, curious to how they would react to his newfound power. He could not see Vahlok anymore. However, he was seeing little short of red.

He looked skyward. "Hear the final voice rising to you, dragon!"

He was ready. So often he'd been in this spot, soul burning with the need to fight, restless in his role of the Dragon Order. And now he knew why. He was like the dragons, but not them. He had power they could not withstand. Inside the arena where he'd killed so many, he stood, ready to take a whole different kind of life for his own.

He let forth his power in an instinctive Shout straight from his dragonsoul.

"SOS VUL ZEIN!"

It was not long before the answering roar shook the air, and a dark shape appeared amidst the clouds. The snow swirled, and for a moment, silence descended on the world. All was still. Miraak waited, his blood afire.

 _I'm ready, beast. I'm ready!_

* * *

.

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dovahzul Translations -**

 _Thu'um - Dragon Shout_  
 _Mul Qah Diiv(Dragon Aspect Shout) - Strong Armor Wyrm_


	4. Aspect of the Dragon

~D~

IV. Aspect of the Dragon

(Ilir do faal Dovah)

The gray skies continued to empty snow upon those below, and the wind howled voraciously, the blizzard of white obscuring visibility. Sosvulzein balanced with practiced ease in the wild atmosphere, his eyes narrowed against the gale. The dragon looked down upon the men and women with it's yellow gaze, snarling slightly. Its large wings swept the air to support itself, creating a steady rhythm that reached the dragonborn despite the harsh weather. Slowly, it looked around, then turned its attention back to Miraak.

"Miraak, there appears to be a problem with your... _kiibokin_ ," the dragon stated in its deep voice.

The head priest saw some of the others beginning to edge back. Their shifts were like droplets of water moving for the river, intent on escaping the sandbanks where they'd be lost forever to the earth. _How they will surely flee when the dragon's anger pours forth,_ Miraak thought. They were pathetic. He could almost forgive the dragons for their lie. How was a man expected to know the difference when most of them would rather submit?

He raised his arms. "On the contrary, Sosvulzein!"

He felt his power, strong and flaming just beneath his skin. He had a dragon's soul, snarling with energy. It was perfectly obvious now. He struggled to believe that he was only now feeling it, only now acting upon it. Until recently, he'd never doubted his allegiance to the dovah, though he had to admit to restlessness in the Dragon Order - the feeling that he had never truly fit into his respective role. And now he knew why; he had the dovah's very power, and he had a great destiny, as shown to him by the vision. He knew what he wanted. That feeling was the desire to fight and burn.

He would turn upon his unworthy master.

"There is only one problem." Miraak gestured to the beast. "You." He was pleased to see a puff of smoke emit from the dragon's nostrils, the serpentine eyes narrowed, and a scaly tail lashed the air.

"I understand now..." Sosvulzein said. "Miraak. Tell me, what young dovah has stolen my role? Tell me who you have pledged yourself to and I will burn him - taste his blood! I heard the Voice of a dragon call to me. A challenge! I will answer this challenge!" The dragon swung his head around, a growl rising from his throat. "Tell me, or I shall punish this insubordination appropriately!"

The others were tensing as if ready to flee, backing farther away. They knew that blood was about to be spilled.

 _Cowards, all of them. The smell of blood is a rally to battle, not a sign to flee._ The fire burned wildly in Miraak's veins. The dragon within roared, wings raising. A blazing inferno leapt into its chest, _his_ chest. Feeling the challenge, Miraak wanted nothing but to fight the other dovah before him. He wanted to crush it, to force it to recognize his superiority. _How dare it look down upon me! I am superior! I am dovahkiin!_

"Sosvulzein, you are mistaken. _I_ called your name in challenge."

That provoked the other's confusion. The dragon landed heavily on his usual archway, just above the altar. The ground shuddered. It looked down, tail curling up in agitation. Anger radiated from it, twisting its mouth to reveal rows of vicious fangs, but its voice was surprisingly calm for an enraged dovah. "That is impossible...unless...yes, another would have taught you the Thu'um, for I have not. So, where is he?"

"No other dovah has taught me this. My _Thu'um_ is as natural as yours."

"Miraak, I did not think you a fool. If it is true... Display your _Thu'um_ , if you can." His words were terse, more impatient now than angered. Obviously, Sosvulzein did not believe him in the slightest and was just waiting for him to fail. All so he could devour him and continue on with his day.

Miraak was ready to prove his claim, though. He Shouted, using his newfound Thu'um, "MUL QAH DIIV!"

Those were the words of power the Daedra had granted him, and even if he'd never used them before, a part of him had understood that it would bolster his strength. Truly, the dragonborn was pleased with the results. He glowed with power, a faint ethereal-looking armor surrounding him, glowing bright even in the dimmed light of the snowy dawn. The armor had a swirl of ancient energy tinting it in the fiery colors of orange, yellow, gold, and crimson. A faint hum resonated from it, and it was low enough that only Miraak could hear it. He admired this power, seeing how the transparent armor seemed to be shaped like dragon scales with faint spikes protruding from his torso, arms, and shoulders.

The dragon above responded with a snarl, his purple-white hide shining with his vital energies. He reared his neck, looking down contemptuously. Sosvulzein growled, "pathetic, mortal. This false power you've found...I will crush it completely. " His voice began rising with renewed anger. "Now, all of you _joorre_ shall bear witness to the punishment of defiance to me!

" _Dir, vax_!" hissed the beast. He opened his jaws and unleashed fury. "YOL!" Fire exploded forth from his maw.

Miraak recollected how he'd attacked Hermaeus Mora with such a Shout. That rush of power he'd felt! It was so strange how easily it'd come. He was prepared to match the other, who was underestimating him. "FO KRAH DIIN!" the dragon within roared through his mouth on instinct. They were words he'd heard dragons speak before, but had had no significant meaning for him until now.

An icy blizzard far more deadly than the current weather rushed to meet the flames. The air instantly whitened around it from extreme cold. When the two Shouts collided, the intense heat was pulled from the flames. The frigid blast flowed over the dragon's muzzle, and his scales began cracking from the dangerous temperature change. Sosvulzein howled and flew forward, his nose bleeding and coated in white frost. The ground shook beneath Miraak's feet as the dragon passed above him. The false god rose into the sky, roaring pain-filled anger.

"The _joor's Thu'um_ is powerful!" Sosvulzein snarled in indignant outrage. "How could he be..?!" he trailed off, muttering fiercely in his own language.

The dragon's bewilderment was a first, though Miraak was not surprised by the false god's reaction. Of course it could not fathom how a mortal was so powerful. With this thought, Miraak readied himself. The enemy was about to witness just how much more powerful he'd become. He realized how truly incredible it was, and for a moment he felt disbelief, realizing how he was defying the one he'd so willingly served. Defying the beasts he'd been so ready to fight for for the rest of his life.

By now, most of the onlookers were retreating to the safety of the temple, but none left the fight. They lingered just inside the doorway, peering out nervously. They would watch on in fascination and fear, Miraak thought, as he slayed the beast of the sky.

 _There are no gods... There are only those who have power, and those who do not._

Miraak swung his staff around and unleashed a series of fiery spells upward. Sosvulzein easily avoided the attacks, ducking away and rising again, twisting from the burning magicka. He watched the dragon abruptly change course. The mighty beast dipped his neck, dropping headfirst towards his foe. Miraak broke into a run as Sosvulzein closed in, intending to escape the crushing claws.

" _Zu'u fen gunaar hi ahrk ken hin sos_!" Sosvulzein howled, reaching forward.

"And I will hang your bones in the throne room, deceiver!" Miraak retorted.

The dragon's attack missed by mere feet.

Sosvulzein crashed into the arena, snarling, skidding away from his target with the force of his descent. His claws left deep gouges in the hard stone ground. He twisted, sliding to a halt. He snarled, teeth bared, stomping forward on his feet and wings. Miraak turned to meet him, wanting to seize the chance while the dovah was on the ground. He was amused by how clumsy this supposed god looked now. He was a lazy dragon, not used to killing anything other than prey and prisoners - certainly nothing that fought back... Perhaps this fight would be even easier than he'd anticipated.

Miraak had barely moved when the dragon spat his next attack.

"GAAN LAH HAAS!"

Miraak was hit with a swift wave of power that nearly knocked him off his feet from its strength. Dizziness swam before his vision and he stumbled, gasping in exhaustion. He fell to his knees, trying to recover. Sosvulzein moved forward, jaws open, growling in a feral manner. Before Miraak could overcome the sudden drop in power, sharp fangs closed upon his torso. He howled in agony, the world rushing past him. The dragon whipped its head and released its hold. Miraak hit the altar near the arena, breath leaving his lungs in a rush. Winded, he blinked, feeling blood seeping into his robes. His sides ached, and he coughed laboriously.

"You shall be the sacrifice today, _funtaas sonaak_." The dragon hissed. "I have tasted your blood, and soon you will only know death!"

The dragon within him thrashed, wounded. Miraak struggled to stand, refusing to fall so quickly. The enemy dovah loomed over him, snarling. The scaly head raised, a glow brightening its chest and its fangs bare, gleaming with fresh blood.

 _My blood... It has been quite some time since it was drawn so easily!_

The wounded dragonborn was angry from the pain, and an injured dragon was a strengthened dragon. Enraged, Miraak felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. He leapt to his feet, clutching his weapon, instinct taking over. Boldly, Miraak raised his staff, the dragon inside raised its wings.

The dragonborn Shouted, "SOS VUL ZEIN!"

A dragon name was also a Thu'um, he now realized, which explained how he had called the dragon to him by Shouting his name.

For a moment, the dragon froze, and Miraak knew his mastery of the Thu'um was true. If there were any doubts before, they evaporated. He was the stronger in suleyk, in dragon power.

"KRII!" He yelled.

The dragon staggered back, but the effect was not quite what Miraak had desired. He felt much weaker, too, using his unfamiliar powers. Sosvulzein, eyes closed in discomfort, broke free of his attack and lunged forward. His spiked nose slammed into the dragonborn and crashed him into the altar. The stone cracked. Miraak could barely react in his agony, crying out. Fortunately, the dragon's attack had been off, uncertain, no longer containing the force it'd once had. Miraak's gaze met cold, reptilian eyes. He saw the weakness and comprehension there; it knew he was more powerful, somehow. Miraak brought his staff around.

"MY _SULEYK_ IS STRONGER!" Miraak thundered. The dragon flinched at the word 'suleyk'.

Using his remaining strength, he speared his staff down, driving it between those golden eyes. The dragon's head flew back, howling. The beast staggered, shaking itself. It lowered its head and clawed at the weapon buried between its scales. It flapped madly, trying to keep balance. The dragon crashed to its side and screamed in pain, thrashing, claws lashing out. The tail whipped, and the wings fluttered as it tried to regain itself.

Miraak slumped forward from the destroyed altar onto his knees, struggling to breath. He blinked several times, barely able to move. He felt pain burning the fire inside away. Blood poured from his wounds, and he could still feel the dragon's Shout still draining at his strength. Though a groan escaped him, Miraak pushed himself to his feet slowly. He leaned against the cracked frame of the altar, resting for a few moments. He found his ability to move again. He straightened himself, stumbling forward. The dragon's head raised, jaws opening. He saw the glow of fire within its throat.

"YOL!"

He summoned a ward before him as quickly as he could. The fire shattered the hasty shield. Miraak staggered, but stayed on his feet, eyes locked on the other. The enemy dovah no longer thrashed but was struggling to rise, its body trembling in pain. It braced itself, looking down at the rebelling priest condescendingly.

" _Hi los Nid-Gein! Druv vogahvon zey_?" The dragon seemed to laugh, voice cracking in pain. " _Hi nis kron zey._ You are mortal! Your attacks can do nothing to me! _To Zu'u fraan faaz, Zu'u fen neh dir naal hin haal, joor_. " Black blood dripped down its face.

Miraak pushed forward, his body filled with pain. Surely he'd cracked a rib or three. Or perhaps all of them. He turned his mind away from that and to his one goal - killing the scaley abomination before him. The dragon's legs collapsed from under it. The ground shook when Sosvulzein hit it, a testimony to the fallen god. The staff did more damage than he'd thought, apparently, or was it the Thu'um he'd used? It did not matter now.

The distance closed between dragonborn and dragon. Sosvulzein opened its jaws, snapping at him. The attack was too slow, too weak. Miraak slipped past it with ease, seizing his staff.

"Your time has ended, dragon," Miraak hissed. He stared right into the yellow eyes glaring in hate. He summoned all of his physical strength and drove the metal further with a burst correlating emotion. For a second, it caught. The dragon yowled, too weak to pull away. Then, there was a crack, and the weapon pushed forward with ease, piercing something soft and pliable. Miraak's inner dragon roared in triumph.

A horrible scream left the dying creature. It found the strength to thrash its head. Miraak fell from the movement, landing gracelessly on his back. He sat up, groaning in pain, watching the end of his enemy. The beast bellowed to the final second of its life. Miraak watched it writhe for several minutes. Then, the big head flopped still, crashing onto the ground. Dark blood continued to pour down its face.

It succumbed to the slumber of death.

 _You were not invincible, Sosvulzein. Your kind, I call thuri no longer!_ Miraak thought. He sat still, relief and satisfaction filling him. He breathed slowly, examining the damage done to himself. He recognized how his injuries were not as bad as they could be. In fact, they were becoming less noticeable with every moment. The Thu'um armor had stopped the worst of the dragon's attacks, keeping his internal organs intact throughout the fight.

Something odd happened, and it caught his attention. The dead dragon's scales and flesh began to shine brightly, as though illuminated with firelight. A crackling sound like the burning of a great inferno filled the air. Miraak rose, stumbling, curiosity overcoming his exhaustion and pain. He strode forward, limping slightly. He didn't slow even as he saw the bewildered gazes of the others who were emerging from the temple. The dragon's scales melted into the air like smoke, turning pure white, whispy in essence.

 _This is a dragon's death?_

The essence lingered. He felt his desire to claim it. He indulged it, trusting his instincts, mentally focusing on it. The glowing brightness became a great wind rushing from the corpse towards him. The bones poured their power forth to Miraak. He closed his eyes and absorbed the feeling it brought.

Almost instantly his vision was swamped by voices, memories, impressions and knowledge - all that were not his own. They were ancient, as old as the dragon itself. The powerful feeling washed over him and he forgot about his wounds for the moment, relieved of pain. The last of the power absorbed into the dragonborn. He blinked slowly, realizing what had happened and feeling stunned.

He'd just taken Sosvulzein's soul! As impossible as it sounded, even in his head, he knew it was truth.

Miraak let his Thu'um armor fade away. He stood there, revelling in the last moments of his victory. He knew he was now that much stronger. His injuries were fairly well forgotten in the feeling of relief the soul had given him. He turned towards the others, nodding solemnly.

He'd won a great battle.

He raised his hands. "To the end of false lies!" he declared, his voice not as strong as he wanted it to be. _My fatigue must be blindingly obvious_ , he thought in annoyance. What did it matter, though, they had just seen the truth.

He saw them beginning to kneel. They started to shift back their cowls. They reached for their faceless masks. They finally understood, he knew. He was powerful, and his destiny had raised him above even the dragons. He'd killed one and stolen its soul. It was something he alone was capable of doing. He could just imagine their shock and wonder at what had just happened.

 _How awed they must be! How they must see me now!_

Then, his moment of victory turned sour.

"WAIT! THIS IS FALSE!"

Vahlok stormed forward, his robes billowing in the blizzard. He stopped by the dragon corpse's head, his gaze on the onlookers. "Are you all out of your _minds_?! This fool here has been consorting with dark spirits!" He faced the former dragon priest. "Isn't that right, Miraak?" he demanded. His hands clenched on something that drew Miraak's gaze.

Miraak noted, with sudden anger, the black book that'd led him to Apocrypha in the other's grasp. His dragon soul hissed vengefully. The dragonborn could not stop his anger. "Give that to me!" he snarled at Vahlok, but the other ignored him coldly.

He raised the possession into the air, instead. "Look at this symbol! It is HERMA-MORA!" he cried.

A chorus of horror-filled gasps rose into the air.

"How could you, Miraak?!" demanded a priest.

"We should have known it was a trick!" Another stated in a near-panic.

"The gods will punish you terribly!"

"They are not gods!" Miraak retorted, irritated. "Sosvulzein's bones lay before you. You just witnessed how I slew him like a fox!"

"With the help of demons!" Cried Vahlok. "The Daedra! The cursed beings of Oblivion! Tricksters and the masters of doom and death! They care not for anything but their selfish passions!" He flung the book he grasped into the bloody snow. "I would destroy this ill-omened object, but I do not have the means to." He dragged his gaze away from the book in the snow. He glared at Miraak. "What on Nirn were you thinking!?"

Vahlok, who was normally so calm, was raging quite openly. Miraak was mildly surprised, but more than that, equally angry. "How can you not see that you have all been lied to?" He demanded, seething. He could feel his wounds again, and was struggling just to stand up straight. His weary limbs shook in effort, but he ignored it.

"And you are a Daedra's tool now!"

"No, Vahlok...you are wrong. I am no one's tool... However, it is true that I did speak with Hermaeus Mora!"

There was a sharp intake from the audience.

"And we did not come to any daedric agreement or fiendish deal. I do nothing in his name! The keeper of knowledge and secrets merely showed me the dragons were lies."

"Wrong!" Vahlok snarled. "If you are so ready to believe the Daedra, why did you disbelieve the dovah?!"

"As if _my_ logic is impaired! I was not deceived by the Daedra, like I was by the dovah! I killed the dragon, who before claimed invulnerability to my power! I am merely proving that a believed truth is a false lie!"

"Brash, young, stupid, arrogant... You seek only destruction and darkness to earn you name!" Vahlok exhaled loudly, venting. His voice abruptly dropped in volume. "It will be your end, and you will gain nothing..."

Miraak was almost too exhausted to continue arguing, but the reply burned forth regardless. "Destruction is our way of life, _especially_ for those following the dragons! And you, Vahlok, bend your knees to false gods! You are a weakling!"

Vahlok seemed to have regained his composure. "I know that I do not walk darkness as you have chosen to. Darkness is the path to demise…"

Miraak turned to the crowd. "But what of you! Will you linger in the lie, or will you be delivered from it?!"

A loud muttering swept through them like a storm. He saw exchanged looks, though he could not read their expressions for the masks and helmets.

"I won't follow a Daedra!" A man shouted.

Several agreed.

 _Unbelievable!_ Miraak was speechless for once. _Can't they see?_

Vahlok took advantage of the lull to call, "return with me to the temple, brothers and sisters! Bromjunaar Gaard will accept you until this traitor is dealt with." He shot a dark look at the dragonborn, even though it was hidden behind his mask.

Miraak felt more than simple disappointment. There was a raging inferno of indignation burning from the inner dragon. It snarled and writhed, ready for another battle to prove its worth. It wanted to burn and destroy. It wanted more blood, but how would that help him now? In the midst of battle, his soul would not fail him. Here, though, he was outmatched in the way of cunning, human words. His idea of persuasion had always been a show of power. That had not worked this time. Somehow, he'd failed to prove himself.

Vahlok had still managed to turn the others against him… Miraak looked to the crimson snow where the daedric book lay. Because of that tome, he would lose his once-loyal followers. Without it, he may have won the verbal debate. Its mere presence negated whatever he might say. However, he did not regret bringing it. What had happened, had happened. There was nothing more to be gained from speaking. He could not change their minds. He was sorely tempted to spring an attack on Vahlok. Would Vahlok's death convince them?

No, if Sosvulzein's hadn't, then nothing would. Besides, he was injured. Another fight would be worthless and likely dangerous to him.

He began to realize he didn't need to care too much. Why should he? He was stronger than any of them. He decided he didn't need them and did not require their help. Before, they were just followers of Sovulzein, and if they needed a dragon so badly, then so be it. Let them go find one.

 _Curse them all! Let them be sacrificed and eaten in the name of their gods for their foolishness!_ "Return to your falsehoods, then! I cast them out." He declared.

"One day, Miraak...one day," Vahlok murmured, stalking away. "I must find my horse." He muttered like an afterthought.

The dragonborn watched the majority of his followers trek after Vahlok. Slowly, he limped forward and scooped up his black book from the snow, brushing the white crystal powder from its cover. His gaze ran over the symbol of the daedra.

 _If I must stand alone, so be it…_

He raised his eyes, aware of movement nearby. He saw several others standing nearby, their gazes on him. He waited, curious and wary. What did they want now?

"What?" Miraak asked, his voice betraying weariness.

"As far as I'm concerned," said one. Miraak recognized Kreniik. "You took Sosvulzein's place...and this is my home. I will stay."

Another agreed, an older man in a guard's uniform. "Yeah, do they truly believe he'll grant them safety? They'll all be killed for even witnessing this!"

"Your loyalty will be remembered and honored," Miraak said. He found himself more thankful than he expected or let on. Now, he wasn't completely alone in his decision, he thought. He had a handful of followers and, if need be, the Daedra of Knowledge, accessible by the book in his grasp.

They would do.

* * *

.

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dovahzul translations -**

 _kiibokin - followers_  
 _Dir, vax! - Die, traitor!_  
 _Yol - Fire(Fire Shout)_  
 _Fo Krah Diin - Frost Cold Freeze(Frost-Breath Shout)_  
 _Joor - mortal_  
 _Gaan Lah Haas - Stamina Magicka Health(Drain Vitality Shout)_  
 _Zu'u fen gunaar hi ahrk ken hin sos! - I will crush you and taste your blood!_  
 _funtaas sonaak - failure priest_  
 _Krii - kill_  
 _Suleyk - power_  
 _Hi los Nid-Gein! Druv vogahvon zey? - You are No-One! Why defy me?_  
 _Hi nis kron zey. To Zu'u fraan faaz, Zu'u fen neh dir naal hin haal, joor! - You cannot conquer me. Though I feel pain, I will never die by your hand, mortal!_  
 _Thuri - my overlord_  
 _Bromjunaar Gaard - Northern-Kingdom Sanctuary_


	5. Planning for Consequences

~D~

V. Planning for Consequences

(Mein fah Volzahdroz)

With the few followers he had, Miraak realized how tricky it'd be to spread his influence. He did not care for blind fools, true, but his calmer self acknowledged how helpful loyalty was - how helpful numbers and allies were. He currently needed a new course of action. One that would benefit him and catch the ear of the Dragon Council. Without their support, there was little chance of succeeding in his task of facing down the dragons.

He would do whatever it took to overcome his former masters. He could kill any dragon, and once the Dragon Council knew it, they would follow him. It was inconceivable that they would not. The truth would become clear, despite Vahlok's lies. After a few thoughtful moments, he became aware of the others standing nearby, waiting patiently for an order.

He gave one. "Back away." Miraak waved the others away from himself. With the gesture, the pain quickly reminded him of its presence, especially in his torso. He winced, wavering in strength.

He found the task of remaining on his feet becoming difficult, but he could not allow himself to drop to the ground like a lazy child and rest, not in front of the others. They may already be doubting their decision to stay. He could not show weakness and let on how much fatigue and pain he was experiencing. If he did, he may as well have lost the fight with Sosvulzein.

Still, if he were to return to the temple on his own, he'd have to see to his injuries.

Miraak's right hand glowed with healing power, the other still clutching his precious dark tome. Wincing slightly, he brought the gold-glowing magicka to his chest, hovering and aiming precisely where necessary. His flesh knitted, and his ribs, which had been at least fractured, repaired neatly with his hisses of discomfort. It wasn't long before both the pain and glow faded. He examined the damage to his robes. The dragon's fangs had left tears in the cobalt fabric surrounded by dark crimson smears of blood. The attire would need sewed and cleaned, perhaps even another dye treatment. Back-ups he kept would serve his needs until such actions were taken.

Miraak now felt capable of moving without risking an embarrassing collapse. Pushing away his exhaustion from the battle, he traipsed forward. He ignored the stares from those who lingered, knowing they must sense his tiredness. Soon, he would need to return to his chambers and rest. However, even though his pain and the worst of his injuries were gone, he wasn't ready to return to the temple.

The former dragon priest turned to the dead body of Sosvulzein. He stalked towards it. The bones were a stained white, as though it'd sat there, unbothered, for years. He stopped at the empty skull, feeling a surge of satisfaction. He admired his staff, piercing the bone deeply, waiting for him to claim it again. He grabbed the weapon, tugging it. With a grunt from the unexpected effort it required, he wrenched it free. Tearing, bone splinters dropped to the bloody snow.

"We discovered," he said, wiping the handle off with his glove, "you were not invulnerable to me, dragon. May your many brethren soon join you in the slumber of death."

Setting the staff aside along with his black book, he knelt down next to the skull, examining the bloodstained, curved fangs. They looked mighty and deadly, even in death. He saw with interest that one in particular looked more loose than the others, held by a thick, colorless strip of bone.

Miraak looked up to the lingering group. "You there!" He called to the man standing nearby. "Bring me a rather heavy stone, if you can find one."

"Yes, Lord Miraak."

After a few moments, the man returned, lugging a large stone in his hands. He grunted as he lowered it, steadying himself with his legs. The rock thudded to the ground.

Miraak snorted, glancing his way. "That should do." He stood up. "Now back away, I am not fully confident this will work the way I intend it to."

The man took a few steps back, watching nevertheless.

Miraak seized the stone. With a grunt of effort, he hefted it up slowly, his arms straining from the recent fight; healing magicka didn't cure fatigue and could just as likely cause more exhaustion. He dropped the stone down, right into the side of the jaw. More accurately, it hit the large tooth jutting from the jaw bone. There was a vicious cracking sound.

Miraak let the rock fall to the side with a thud. On the ground lay the fang, gleaming in the beat-down snow.

 _You drew my blood. I took your soul… That fang shall serve as a reminder._

Miraak seized the bone and lifted it from the ground. He held it aloft, inspecting it. The end was slightly jagged, but somehow it enhanced the overall appeal of the item as a trophy. The tip was painted with his own dried blood. It was a marvel to hold. No other mortal had ever clasped a dragon fang before. At least, not in living memory.

 _A fitting prize._

"We will make way for a new world," Miraak said. He pointed to the priests nearby. "Gather some locals and bring them here. I will explain to them what needs to be done. We will display this skeleton within the temple. I wish to remind those that still remain of what has happened." He was silent for a minute, then added, "and those to come of what _will_ happen."

"It shall be done, Lord Miraak." The man said.

Miraak turned and made for the entrance of his temple.

* * *

The group of men followed the former dragon-worshipper as they entered the temple. There were about twenty of them, dressed in animal skins and furs. Long, bushy hair grew from their heads and sometimes from their faces. There appeared little grace or order in their strides, just random movements. Still, there was a dignity and durability that marked who they were - a people who thrived in a harsh and unforgiving land.

 _Peasants,_ Miraak thought with some amusement.

For his own reasons, he found it ridiculous to wear pelts. With the coarse fur and leathery textures, it was obvious that it lacked comfort for the one dressed in it. But what else could peasants wear? He knew there was little real cloth beyond the wealthy Dragon Order. Another detail he noticed - also strange - was their exposed faces, maskless and helmetless.

 _Like open wounds..._

He had trouble believing the overgrown, braided beards served any purpose. Miraak had never found much use for such a copious amount of hair. Their quantity of the facial kind would be uncomfortable beneath a mask. Not only that, it would surely hinder simple day-to-day activities...like eating or sleeping. That wasn't to say Miraak lacked facial hair completely. Only a boy had none. However, he always trimmed it rather short unless he wanted to suffer for it. After all, reaching up and scratching under one's mask every so often quickly became tiresome. Of course, it couldn't be so agonizing to those who wore absolutely nothing on their faces.

He turned his mind from such idle thoughts. He had more important things to do than to worry about their abundant hair and simple appearances. He stood and approached them, never letting a hint of his current weariness show. He'd exchanged his torn robes with one of his equally splendid replacements. There was no reason for them to expect his tiredness. Their gazes were respectful enough, he supposed, as they fixed upon him, but also guarded.

Once they were before him, both halted. They stared, never taking their eyes away.

 _They probably tremble inside._

He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking to them. "Now, peasants," Miraak said, his voice uncaring. "You have seen the bones of the once-proud Sosvulzein upon my doorstep. I find his carcass...irritating where it is at. I feel it could be put to better use...up there," he pointed above and behind his head.

Their gazes traveled upward. Miraak felt they were obviously awed into speechlessness by just standing in the temple. Looking up to take in its full glory, however, was likely too much for them.

He continued, "I have taken this area, and it is free of the Dragon Order. You now answer to me alone. When you leave this place, take this news with you - you now serve Lord Miraak, only, and no harm shall befall you unless you disobey me. Your first order under my sole rule, is to bring the dragon skeleton inside of this temple. I want you to use the strongest material we have to display it from the ceiling."

"We would start by taking the bones apart," said a man in a gruff voice. He looked to his fellows, his face contorted slightly in resignation that was completely lost on Miraak.

The others agreed with quick nods and murmurs of assent.

"You are dismissed to carry out my order," Miraak said. "Nina," he uttered to a priest nearby, when they turned away.

She looked at him.

"Oversee them, if you will. If any of them give you trouble, feel free to kill him and mount his head on a spike."

"Yes, my lord," she said.

The workers moved away then, heading for the entrance. Nina followed behind, silent. It was a rather unceremonious departure, Miraak knew. It mattered little though, how impressive the action was, just that it happened.

* * *

The sun traded places with the sibling moons in the skies of Keizaal several times, rolling the days by smoothly. Then, one morning dawned to the completed task. The skeleton of the mighty dragon was fully and successfully suspended from the ceiling. It was an impressive sight, even to the ones who'd done the work. The skeleton held a terrifying pose that Miraak hadn't liked at first. The wings jutted out grandly. The jaws gaped in anger. The spine was curved as though the dragon were about to dive. The claws beneath reached forward, acting to capture something. In death, the beast still appeared to demand the typical respect and praise from mortal-kind.

He'd thought that the peasants were perhaps playing a trick upon him. Then, he had dismissed the idea, deciding they wouldn't be clever enough for such an elaborate joke. After much contemplation, though, Miraak decided the irony of the dragon's ferocious position was actually quite a perfect twist. The beast was a trophy, displayed in might to impress others of its death, not its life. A remnant of a once immortal god, allowed such grace only by the one who killed him.

 _Just imagine what they will think when they see this...travesty of their overlords,_ he thought, his mind going to those that would surely join in the future.

Miraak did not thank the workers when they left. He did not congratulate them. He barely acknowledged them.

"You may go and return to your homes," was all he told them.

And so they did.

Surely, they must feel awed by Sosvulzein's corpse. Surely, they were relieved he was dead. They would not live with the risk of being snatched for sacrifice now.

Why had their faces been so blank? Miraak would never understand peasants.

* * *

Miraak leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. His masked followers had gathered there, in the former chant room, on his orders. Two or three had helmets, their partially-visible faces as expressionless as possible. However, the dragonborn could feel the faintest of tension hanging in the air. He could see it in their stiff, discontented postures, occasional sharing of uneasy glances, and fidgets of discomfort. He would never let on as such, but he too felt a little less confident than usual. It wasn't every day he lost more than hundreds of followers. In fact, he barely had any left _to lose_.

Holding back a wave of bitterness, he stood straight. He had to believe that would change...and he did, in his heart.

"With Sosvulzein's death," Miraak stated, breaking the silence, "we have learned much of the dovah. They want our unending support, but they never truly deserved it. They are vulnerable in their own right."

"What...was that...book from earlier?" Asked a man, his voice hesitant. "Was it...truly daedric?"

"It was, indeed," Miraak replied tersely.

"Then…" he trailed off.

"Then how is this a true victory of the dovah?" Miraak asked, his irritation increasing. He pushed back from the table, his voice rising. "I'll tell you how. I was not given my power by a Daedra. The tome is an outlet of knowledge, like any book, and it simply revealed to me my inherent abilities. It was fate that I should find it. I now see what I am. If you had not comprehended that, then why did you linger? I do not have to explain myself to you. I am dovahkiin! Dragonborn! The power to devour a dragon's soul - to take its power for my own - is my birthright! You are either able to accept that, or you are not!"

"I u-understand, my lord."

"Good."

Another spoke, "but what do you mean by _dovahkiin_ , exactly? Dragonborn? I've never heard of such a term."

"No, you have not," Miraak replied. "I am the first, apparently. My soul is like that of a dragon, my Thu'um made powerful through natural ability. However, I am not burdened by the mind of a dragon, which could only comprehend the predatory need to devour and conquer mortal-kind. It is willpower, that I see a different path. This gives me the strength to conquer the beasts. How else do you wish me to explain it?"

"It is a fair answer, Lord Miraak."

"It is impressive," said a man. "However, I saw that Thu- er, Sosvulzein still seemed to be tough to bring down and slay. Were we truly ready to rebel so openly?"

Miraak felt a rush of anger. Was this fool referring to his earlier injuries? Questioning his capabilities?

He growled, "You are mistaken. This is not a petty rebellion. It is rearranging the established order with the consequences of fighting! My abilities are fine; do not continue to question in such a presumptuous manner, Kreniik!" His voice lowered, becoming less harsh. "However, if we were ready or not, it does not matter. It is in the past, and we must live with the decision."

"Your decision," growled a guard, his short beard slightly gray.

Miraak narrowed his eyes at him through his gold mask, tensing. He didn't know this man's name. He'd never bothered to learn the identities of his guards in the past, when there were so many.

"You know, I've been around this temple for awhile." The guard glanced at the others, as though looking for someone who'd been around as long as he had. He got no support but continued without further hesitation. "I've seen how you use your power and might! Your brain is a mere last resort! You interrupted the chant, and challenged the dragon without thinking! Just like when you challenged Liikriid, the former head priest of this temple! Do you even remember his name? Now, we must live with the consequences of _your_ decision, not ours. If-"

Miraak stormed towards the other, rage bubbling in his veins. His fist lashed out before he could stop it, connecting with the man's jaw. The other staggered back, sinking against the wall. All eyes were upon the scene, wide.

The man looked up, holding his injured face in one hand.

Miraak was harsh. "If you had spoken to me like that back when I had plenty of followers, I would have killed you. However, I would like to give you the chance to redeem your idiocy…" he sounded like he'd rather not. "For now, take joy in my mercy, for it is the last you will see of it."

The man remained silent. looking away from the scorching gaze. He'd stared down many men before, but this… _This is like trying to stare down a dovah,_ he thought. _He just proved my point, and yet...I cannot bring myself to say such._

Miraak returned to his spot. "That is all beside the point. You were free to leave with Vahlok. Do not act like the consequences are so binding for you. It _was_ your choice."

"Vahlok will surely kill them, no matter what he claims," said the man softly. "That is why I did not leave. I do not seek death willingly."

"Keep your wits, and you will continue to breath." Miraak scowled under his mask. "I only ask for your loyalty, not your complaints."

For a while, not a single word was spoken. The guard stood up silently, moving back to the group with a strange reluctance. The others unconsciously inched away from him. Miraak felt a bit of vengeful pleasure from that.

"What do we do now?" Asked one of the priests eventually. "The townstead nearby will supply our needs, as usual, but we will surely be attacked by the Dragon Council when word reaches them of what has happened here."

"I doubt they will actually attack the temple," said Kreniik. "We'd just be considered upstarts. They'll order an execution for sure."

"Oh, and how do you suppose they'll do that if they don't attack the temple to arrest us?" Mocked a woman. "They'll ask us nicely to attend our execution, for sure." Even though her mask hid her expression, it was easy to tell that she was angry.

"That's not what I meant, Nina." Kreniik's shoulders tensed as he spoke. He managed to look cross even with a mask. He even straightened his posture a little.

"Oh, do clarify, Kreniik! Or are you too stupid to?" She asked, also straightening. Miraak saw one of her fists clench.

"I just don't think the whole council will get involved in this! One or two head priests at the most."

"Really now? I doubt that very much."

"The-"

Miraak interrupted, "If they only involve one or two members, then they are fools... Now, Nina and Kreniik, quit trading barbs like old hags." He knew their old habit had never died, and he was only glad that he now had the rank to stop their bickering with his own words when it became bothersome.

" _Yes, Lord Miraak_ ," they replied, exchanging glares with each other.

"Now," the dragonborn said smoothly, stifling his uncertainty. "I need to stop Vahlok from turning the council biased with his cunning lies." He folded his arms. "I need word to reach them, but it would be near impossible to get in ahead of Vahlok. He's had a week headstart."

"Then rushing is pointless," someone said.

"Exactly."

"Still, the longer we wait, the more the lie festers in their hearts and minds," said a priest. "We cannot just sit back."

"We won't, Laana," Miraak said. "I will attend the Summit, as usual, that will take place in two weeks time." He looked around, daring them to object. "I have yet to be officially ejected from the council. They will have to let me in."

"What about the time before the Summit?" Kreniik queried. "That's a _lot_ of time for rejection. What if they decide not to let you in?"

Miraak said fiercely, "I will show them what I am. They cannot deny the truth when a dead dovah hangs from my ceiling."

"They'll kill you if you approach them."

"I'd like to see them try!" Miraak snapped.

Why wouldn't these fools just shut up? Before this whole business had started, they would never have questioned him like this. Perhaps they now thought themselves worthy to doubt, to rebel, to question his abilities. He would set that straight.

"Now, if any of you wish to further protest my decisions, then I will gladly meet them in battle outside in the arena, and we will settle this in the proper way."

His voice had gone quite dark. He looked at them individually, the dragon's rage burning through his veins. It reared, snarling, flame smoldering in its throat. He braced himself on the table, trying to contain it. There was no doubt to the others that he'd kill any one of them in the blink of an eye, given the proper reason. They fell mercifully silent.

"That's better," Miraak said. He squared his shoulders, overcoming his anger. "They will listen to me. And do not doubt that I will return. In the meantime, we need more workers, followers. I do not wish this place to be entirely defenseless during crucial moments in the future. I command Laana and Kreniik to begin recruiting."

The two mentioned glanced at each other with uncertainty. Miraak ignored their looks and continued. "Kreniik, you will see to defects from other places. Travel the land and scour the hills and forests. Stalk the shadows of distant temples. Wherever dissension with the dragons resides, I want you there. I don't want you to return until you have a decent following with you."

"Aye, my lord. It will be done." There was just the faintest hint of doubt in his voice.

"Laana, I want you to persuade some of the local tribesmen and townspeople to...join us. Bolster our numbers, build our forces. I require workers. If we are attacked, we will need fortifications. It is better to be prepared than not."

"Indeed, my lord. I will not fail."

He knew they were good for this mission.

He continued. "Both of you, feel free to take two others with you, if you desire.

"The rest will stay here and oversee the temple. Now then, I must prepare for my travels. Remember, do not return until you've progressed. If you need to work out the details, do so in the other room. Nina and Bonaak, I want you to manage the workers when they return. "

No one dared protest.

"Yes, Lord Miraak," and "It shall be done," were spoken by the others. Slowly, they filed from the room.

 _There is much to do._

One man remained behind the others. He was looking expectantly at his leader. Of all of his followers, Miraak felt this man was the most loyal. Like a guard hound, quiet, intelligent, and ready. Through his time, his service had always been to Miraak more than Sosvulzein. He'd joined as a young lad several years ago, and had never wavered in his duty.

"Nahlot," Miraak said presently. "Let us see to the...finer points of this mission. I will begin preparations to leave within three days. The Summit calls." He turned to the quiet man, who had not spoken once during the entire exchange.

A wise man, Nahlot.

"I must ask something first, my lord." he finally said after a moment.

"Yes?"

"The dragons have been living on the lie for as long as anyone can remember. But what now? If they are not gods, then who? Not that it is hard for me to grasp, you see, my lord, but others are not so quick. Who would rule mortal-kind, if not Alduin, the firstborn himself? Even the tribes people, in their considerably free lifestyles, answer to the dovah. You and I know well that the rabble resort to lawlessness without guidance, whatever the form. Just think of the occasional bandits of the roads, who reject all form of law."

"The strongest becomes the leader. The one to guide." Miraak closed his eyes, smiling behind his mask faintly, remembering the vision in Apocrypha. "If it is a leader you seek for the masses, then you see him before you. My name, Allegiance-Guide, Mir-aak. My title, dragonborn. Fate has decreed it so. The world order shifts, Nahlot. I shall be what the land needs and what false gods fear in the days to come."

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dovahzul translations -**

 _Liikriid - Liberty-Killer  
Nina - To-Sting_  
 _Laana - To-Want_  
 _Bonaak - Slice_  
 _Nahlot - Silence_  
 _Al-du-in - (Destroyer-Devour-Master)_


	6. Cold and Savage Lands

~D~

VI. Cold and Savage Lands

(Krah ahrk Bruniik Himdah)

The crisp and cold air filled with the muffled sound of horse hooves. The noise carried amongst the ice-encased evergreens and brushed through the tall stalks of winter grass jutting from the snow, resounding through the partial silence. The towering trees groaning in the occasional wind reminded the rider of how old the woods were. Still, this sylvan world lived on, despite Keizaal's cruel and frigid temperatures, thriving quietly under a layer of nearly constant snow.

The rider followed a deer trail leading through this frozen forest, opting to travel off-road. This was likely the safer option for him, he'd decided. The road was almost always covered in a sheet of treacherous ice hidden by a layer snow. Not only that, in the face of all he'd done, he felt the woods would pose less danger. He would not run into hostile dragon priests on the winding animal trails. He had no fear of them, true, but he had no desire to be caught off guard. Within the labyrinth of the forest, he was given a greater chance of surprising any enemy wanting to try their prowess against his.

There'd be no safety until he'd accomplished what he had set out to. He had resigned himself to this fate.

Miraak's thoughts turned to what had caused the beginning of his new life - the magickal ring within his pocket. It had granted him a recognition of what he'd done. Though he had once been blind, he'd found an awakening enlightenment within the black, daedric book. This realization had driven him to a red fury in his mad frenzy to kill Sosvulzein. However, his mind was now clear, his eyes were open wide. It was the world around him that was blind. The dragons took advantage of that.

No more. He would drag all into the enlightenment he'd experienced.

If not him, then who else? He saw it as his duty. Fate had handed him such a worthy but almost cruel task. To rise above himself. To pursue a goal that others would not. To bring the truth where those who rejected it thrived.

Yes, the truth would be known. Many dragons would die by his hand and his alone. Never again would he be doubted. When the false gods' scales melted and their flesh burned, all would discover the truth; the immortal dovah were vulnerable.

However, he had to acknowledge they were still _dangerous_ and how he'd suffered no small injuries in his first battle with one. Sosvulzein was not the strongest dragon, nor was he the most cunning. In fact, Miraak was certain that he'd spent most of his life being lazy and out of practice for combat. The dragonborn knew he was likely to incur his death if he were not more cautious in future confrontations. Other dragons were tougher, older, and often trained for battle. It would be hard to do this carefully, though he knew he needed to. When the dragon reared within, he longed for battle so dearly.

Nothing would quell such fire. He only had to learn to control it.

Miraak had forced himself to realize that part of the problem originated from his peculiar confidence and hunger for blood. He had not given himself time to prepare for that fight with Sosvulzein or to practice his powers. Maybe if he'd waited even a week, it could have gone very differently. He might have killed the dragon within minutes, without injury. He might have hidden away his book beforehand, so his powers were never suspected a Daedra's. Vahlok might even have recognized his superiority.

In fact, Vahlok wouldn't have been there at all.

Again, it bothered him to know he'd made a mistake in his rash reaction to the chant. Again, he refused these feelings. Nothing would change what had happened. Once he had the Dragon Council under hand, he would see to honing his powers, his mind, and most particularly, the fire in his heart - all to a fine weapon under his control.

 _To do so, I will have to return to Apocrypha. There is much that creature of knowledge may offer me. Even the dragons must fear such a being! That is why they ensured all mortal-kind believed them to be nothing but evil. I swallowed it all so readily. However, I still know little of the inhabitants of Oblivion._

 _At the very least, Hermaeus Mora is different. He is connected to the tides of fate directly, and is not my own fate grand? Why should he reject my desire to learn? I will carve my fate across this very world, and when I am done..._

 _I will be the strongest._

Thoughts of grandeur raced in his mind freely, but he soon pushed them away when a glance skyward caused him to realize his horse was traveling east, not south. He quickly corrected that, shaking his head. For now, he turned his attention to the travel at hand.

He crested a rise between two trees and was greeted with an unexpected sight. Miraak pulled back on the reins of his horse.

"Halt," he commanded.

The dark beast shook itself, dancing impatiently. Its hooves disturbed the snow in movement. The mount tossed its head, blowing plumes of fog from it's nose when it snorted. He could feel the trembling excitement from the stallion.

The dragonborn's hand fell upon his sword pommel. It was a weapon he rarely brought on any venture, but this trip warranted extra protection. What he saw reminded him of another reason he'd decided to avoid the roads. He was pleased that his caution had been rewarded.

Down the snowy hill of thinning trees marking the edge of the woods, he could see them amidst the branches - wispy plumes of smoke rising gently from bright spots of light here and there. They could only be campfires.

 _Could it be one of the hunting tribes that roam this area?_

He doubted it. It was too unlike them. They would never set upon the road, especially so blatantly. The tribal people preferred the vast wilderness, rarely allowing their presence to be known. In fact, finding them could be a trying task. They didn't like to draw attention from outsiders.

Of those who might be responsible for blockading the road, he had little doubt of who they really were.

 _Bandits,_ he concluded.

"How dare they!" he growled.

His horse jerked nervously at his snarl. He patted its neck. He didn't need his steed bolting.

"Setting up a pathetic operation so close to my territory. Have they no sense?..." He calmed himself. "No, I suppose they do not," he answered his own question. Even from a young age, he'd concluded bandits to be little better than feral, wild animal. Perhaps they'd learned of Sosvulzein's death and had become emboldened by such, thinking the territory free to take for their own. He determined that for the rest of their short lives, they would learn to fear him far more than they ever had the dragon.

He urged his eager horse forward. The animal snorted again, trotting through the snow with ease. For several minutes, he rode forward at a slightly faster pace than before. The horse was eager to run, but he held him back. He didn't want him wearing out so early in his journey. He still had a long way to travel.

The cold wind blew through his mask and he inhaled deeply of the glorious air of Keizaal. It was always so crisp and pure, light and dry, like a feather on the breeze. It was half of the reason he felt so very alive at the moment. The other half was for the blood he could almost smell to be spilt. The dragon in him stirred itself, sitting up. It growled, smoke spilling from its jaws.

 _Soon, there will be blood...soon,_ he told it.

It hissed.

Despite his former thoughts on the matter, he had the horse thundering down the snowy landscape. The trees became sparse, easy to fly through. Snow flowed up in his wake. He raised his staff. The dragon leapt up and soared with him, in his veins but also in the sky. It'd spotted the prey. Both descended, hungry with the desire to destroy.

He came upon the first part of the camp quickly. It consisted mainly of a ring of pelt tents, where armed men stood around, dressed in clothing much like their tents' material. Their weapons were still sheathed and their painted faces momentarily oblivious to the descending intruder.

That quickly changed. They saw the dragon, mistaking him for a man.

A shouting went up through the bandits. They all turned towards Miraak, who unleashed a storm of fire ahead of himself. He yanked his reins around, bringing the horse to an abrupt halt. It whinnied loudly. He leapt from the saddle, catching himself on the run. His splendid robes whipped behind him.

The bandits collected themselves. He was glad they had no masks like the priests that used to challenge him. He was looking forward to watching their faces contort in fear when they realized they were going to die.

The dragon within was eager for battle. Miraak charged forward, a growl rising in his throat. His voice was predatory and full of hate, resonating with the dragon. There was a wickedly eager feeling coiling in his gut. These men deserved to die, and the reasons were both simple and complex. He would allow no such intrusions on his territory. Not only that, he knew he had to prove his dovahsil, his dragon-soul, to them. Besides, they deserved death, moreso than anyone else. Both traitors and lawless, they had no dignity, pride, or even a reason to linger. They were blemishes upon the world that needed to be wiped out.

About five or six men rushed forward. At the back, a spellcaster raised his hands, icy wind falling from his fingers. All of them appeared ready to face him.

Miraak was incredulous. Surely they were able to tell who he was, and yet they came at him like ridiculous fools. They should have been fleeing in absolute terror and panic. Regardless, he was ready to meet them in battle. Easily, he drew his sword to dual-wield with his staff, deciding to conserve his magicka for the moment.

The dragon bared its fangs.

When the bandits crowded in, Miraak knew he had little to worry from the spellcaster. His idiot allies left the man no room to cast his little ice tricks. Miraak swung his staff around. The sharp edges of its head imbedded in a scalp. His sword blocked a swing at his midsection.

"YOL!" He Shouted, the Thu'um emblazoned with fury.

A wave of flame washed over those in front of him. They fell back, pelts afire. Their eyes were wide in fear now. Miraak was pleased by the screams torn from them in ungodly howls. The other bandits, somehow realizing a frontal assault was suddenly not a good idea, tried to circle around. Miraak was not perturbed though. It was too late for them. He let a burst of fire erupt from his staff. More of the lawless cretins fell. The duel with the mage was brief, and over before the other had traded a single spell. His smoking corpse collapsed uselessly almost like an afterthought.

Abruptly, there was sharp pain and the dragonborn staggered, surprised. An arrow had seemingly sprouted from his shoulder. He realized he must have missed a bandit. He twisted around, the discomfort filling him with anger. The dragon yowled, flaring its wings in fury. He realized what he should have done long before now.

"MUL QAH DIIV!" Cloaked with his draconic armor, he moved forward. He felt the realization of invulnerability. Every last bandit would die by his fire, his fangs, his claws.

The pain was practically forgotten.

With a well-placed spell, the archer that'd struck him fell back, howling to the burst of fire that slammed into his chest.

More men rushed forward from deeper in the camp, yelling wildly.

The dragonborn wondered if they even knew a language. They were like wild animals - a bunch of stupid and feral wolves rushing at prey obviously too powerful for them. Dumb hounds nipping at the feet of a mighty dragon.

He would crush them. He slammed his sword back into his sheathe. He did not need it.

He brought his staff around, clasping it between both hands. Sharp energy filled the air, crackling about him. The Thu'um armor let off little bouts of magicka which he drew into the spell. He absorbed power into the staff, pulling on his reserves and the strength of his Voice.

 _I will flatten this camp with one stroke!_

The air trembled around him. The dragon glowed with power. The ethereal, wispy form of it gathered around him, great scaled wings rising in fire above the ground. A great head reared, chuckling with amusement at the ants below. It was then they started to flee, seeing the dragon before them, realizing he was about to incinerate them all. Unfortunately for them, there would be no escape.

There were other men, less wise, racing for him, raising their weapons. Their faces were savage, but he could still see their fear. There was no doubt in his mind. They were indeed feral animals. They would die as such.

They were feet away when the dragon's head dove downward, wings beating once. A wave of fiery power was unleashed wrathfully, leaping from the ground where the head had impacted. The pelt tents instantly blazed in fire. The trees in the vicinity shook. The snow steamed, jumping instantly from a solid to a vapor from the intense heat.

The flesh of his enemies melted away first.

Muscle peeled and bones split.

Their skeletons blackened.

Remains dropped and ashes piled.

There were smoldering scorch-marks where the nearby tents had been. Smoke rose from nowhere and everywhere. The snow had been melted and evaporated from the heat in a large radius. The dead grass underneath was burning away, completely dried out in the wake of the power.

He stood for a moment, observing the aftermath of the destruction.

The dragon felt satisfied after its mighty display.

The dragonborn nodded in fulfillment. He moved through the area, knowing he'd missed a few places that had been out of his range. All bandits would die.

The cost of the spell hit him. Miraak's breathing picked up as he walked. His legs felt stiff, and the air felt even colder. His arms trembled with the strain to hold his staff, and his shoulder was afire with pain from the arrow. He knew he'd unleashed too much power - power that was directly connected to his life force. He had indulged the dragon unnecessarily when he should have restrained it.

It mattered little though. Miraak knew he could kill all of these men with little effort. He was just going to have to be more wary. He paused for a moment, moving to take care of the arrow wound before continuing his purge of the bandits.

* * *

Miraak's magicka hit the bandit. Lighting danced over his foe, knocking the man off his feet. Cautiously, weapon still raised, Miraak approached the enemy. Glancing down and inspecting the liveliness of the other, he saw that the skin on the man's face had been blackened from the direct hit.

Miraak loosened his stance.

 _He is dead._

He felt better now. He'd regained enough of his strength so that his discomforts had lessened.

Curiously, he turned towards the largest tent, set on a rise above all the others. He assumed that it was where the leader made his home, yet Miraak had seen no sign of the bandit chief. That was rather odd. Was the leader truly as cowardly as his brethren?

It was possible, even probable.

Alert, he approached the ledge and clambered onto it with a grunt of effort. Straightening his form, he examined the snow with a downward glance. He could make out a clear set of footprints leading from the tent, recently made. They lead towards the woods.

 _So he is indeed a coward..._

A noise caught his attention. He jerked his head towards the sound, which originated from the woods not far from where the trail led. Narrowing his eyes, he saw a humanoid shape retreating through the brush, barely visible in the distance.

He swiftly pursued. No bandit would escape.

He burst through the shrubbery, his staff forward.

The woods ahead were seemingly empty. Cautiously, he crept forward, suspecting an ambush.

The air was heavy and silent. He could hear nothing of his quarry. His boots crunched upon the snow, too loud for his comfort. The trees gave nothing away, still and resolute. He felt a stab of irritation. Where was this bandit?

When he reached the spot where he'd first seen the figure, he began to doubt what he had witnessed. There was no indication of where else to search. There was not a single clue clearly marking the other's presence to be seen. The snow was disturbed here, but there were no trails or footprints. For all he knew, an animal was the cause of the snow's overturned state.

Most likely, the bandit had covered his tracks. Perhaps with an evergreen branch.

He heard a faint, animal growl.

His gaze snapped up, staring straight into a hateful snarl. A wolf stood a few meters away. Its gray-white fur was bristled, and its pale eyes gleamed. He met it's gaze, unflinching. He saw it's teeth bared. Behind it, he could see even more of the beasts, probably five or six more.

Miraak could almost feel his disbelief circulating throughout his thoughts. Why in Nirn would these wolves be announcing their presence? Being keen hunters, most of these large animals never made a noise until they were assured they had their prey caught. He'd encountered such beasts before and knew they were cunning creatures.

Not only that, but these animals hadn't attacked the bandit that'd escaped.

The wolves backed away from him then.

Miraak, who'd been fully expecting the attack, was bemused again. The wolf gave a pathetic yip and whimpered. It twisted in the snow, snapping at one of its companions. The snarling pack slunk away, disappearing with speed.

Uncertain as to what this meant, Miraak straightened himself to his full height and made his way back to the destroyed camp. He decided the bandit wouldn't stay lucky forever. He hoped the man would be attacked and devoured by wolves less fearful than those he'd seen.

Then, the irony of it struck him.

It'd been the bandits that'd faced him. Men who should've known clearly they were doomed from the start. No, they'd fought him every step of the way. However, mindless, savage beasts had fled from him. Wolves, whose hunger should have overcome their fear. That pack must have sensed the dragon within him.

And they'd fled because of it.

Miraak wondered why bandits were incapable of comprehending even the simplest things. He decided it was in their nature. They would run amok, trying to overcome the world with their insolence. He could remember a time when he'd seen bandits pillage a town-stead.

His fire had matched theirs and burnt them to a crisp, just like it had today.

Was their destruction not like the dragons'? Like his? He suddenly wondered. The thoughts quickly canceled out, though. No, he decided. His destruction was not pointless. Perhaps it was for the dragons...but for him, there was meaning to it. He'd never once forgotten he had a destiny. That destiny demanded much from him, like his fire and power.

Miraak reached the bandit chief's tent, and then fell into caution again. He entered, blinking at the change of light, experiencing mild surprise at what he saw. There was a candle on the ground. A bowl of spilled soup adorned the table, still steaming. There was a dagger lying beside it, but it looked like it had not been touched.

The bandit leader - the one he'd thought had escaped him - was there, and he was quite dead. It was obviously a recent kill. Blood dripped down the table from a wound the dragonborn could not see. If it had been an older kill, it would have been frozen, left alone like this.

Had one of the bandits turned on their chief right before Miraak's assault? It seemed like the best explanation. Maybe that was who had slunk off into the woods.

Miraak made to examine the body. He could see the cause of death now, and it was definitely unexpected. A large, yellow-gold bolt jutted from his chest. Miraak found that he did not recognize the metal.

 _How odd._

On the bolt, a piece of parchment was pinned, fluttering lazily in the breeze drifting in from outside.

Miraak grabbed the paper and turned it towards him. He read it, but the message made him even more uncertain of what had happened.

 _To the law-avoiding savages of the land,_

 _If you value your meager existence, heed this man's death._

 _The roads will remain open, or you will all be purged._

 _By the Dragon Order._

 _Hail Alduin._

The message was written in awkward dragon writing. It was written not by a dragon priest, Miraak knew. No one would ever write 'hail Alduin' like that. Even though everyone technically served Alduin, a dragon priest would only sign the name of the dragon or high ranking priest they directly served if he were not important enough to sign his own name. Not only that, there were a few wrongly arranged marks here and there, and an extra dot on the symbol for 'death' that confused him for a few seconds.

Whoever had written this, had tried to pass themselves off as a dragon priest and failed.

 _Who would attempt such trickery? And for what purpose?_

He scowled slightly, thinking of the retreating form he'd seen. It hadn't been a bandit! No bandit was even slightly literate in the dragon writing. It'd been someone else.

But who?

Someone had been ready to take these people out by starting from the head and working their way through the rest of the camp; this chief hadn't even managed to raise the alarm. Or perhaps they'd intended only to kill the leader. If it was the former, Miraak had ruined this person's plan by taking on the camp himself.

That meant the person who'd left was responsible. What had been their purpose?

 _Maybe it was a rogue dragon priest. Or even a tribesman - some of them are literate. Still, this bolt is strange. I've never seen anything quite like it._

He had no way to solve the mystery here with the other having escaped. His exhaustion was catching up to him he noted and with some annoyance, Miraak set the tent aflame with a quick fire spell. He did not want this mysterious note found by another. It would only cause trouble.

A heap of charred tents and bodies were both message enough, especially to lawless men and women who thought themselves powerful enough to take over the roads. He continued the process with the rest of the tents in the camp, mind not really on his task. When he had finished, he pushed the incident from mind and went searching tiredly for his horse.

How the destruction of this bandit camp would look like a dragon's work when he was done. But all would know it was not a dragon, for Sosvulzein was dead, and this was Miraak's land now.

* * *

.

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dovahzul Translations**

 _Dovahsil - Dragon-soul_


	7. Northern Kingdom Sanctuary

~D~

VII. Northern Kingdom Sanctuary

(Bromjunaar Gaard)

The chorus of voices echoed from the mountain range, carried along by the morning breeze. The sound was strange, oddly shaped by the twisting currents in the atmosphere. It traveled the new day, gliding aloft down the slopes and over the wooded plains. Its journey lead to the beaten down snow carpeting the land, marked by the hundreds of hooves and feet that'd passed over it. Nearly compressed into a sheet of ice, the snow could prove treacherous here to those traveling over it.

Guiding his horse up the empty, well-trodden trail, Miraak calmly rode. Neither rider nor steed faltered on the path to his goal. For over the past hour, the dragonborn had had eyes only for his destination - the main gate. The gate itself was situated in the mountain high above, only accessible through the climb of the trail. The oddity of the original city was that it'd been built in the massive, strange valley that seemed to have been carved amidst the rocks of the mountains in an age long since past. Most dragon-worshippers claimed the dragons were responsible - that they deemed where man's capital settlement should be.

No matter its origins, this was where the mighty city of Bromjunaar sat, more formally known as Bromjunaar Gaard, the Northern Kingdom Sanctuary and the beating heart of Keizaal's civilization. This was the home of the main dragon temple, which was said to inhabit the hollow mountains for miles, twisting in a web of mighty tunnels, great worship halls, and sacrificial chambers. The temple was overseen jointly by Morokei and Konahrik, the most prestiged men of the age. The Dovah Relahmik, the Dragon Council, resided here. Because of Bromjunaar Gaard, the Dragon Order thrived. This was the only city where both dragon priests and normal citizens dwelt together.

It was an impressive city, full of wonder and beauty. Great architecture rose to the sky. The sight of dragons soaring above these spires in their full glory was common enough. Within it, the worship temple was the largest building. Taking up nearly a quarter of the city's space, it housed nearly a thousand souls, a hundred of which were prisoners, and its other inhabitants were dragon priests.

Unfortunately, its magnificence was lost on the dragonborn who was more than ready to be done with his travels. Miraak could only feel annoyance creeping up his spine, along with a faint sense of apprehension. Almost too quickly, the trail ended. Upon reaching the gate, two sentinels stepped forward, gazes hard and spiteful.

"State your business, traitor," one spat, raising his spear threateningly. He must have recognized the mask of Miraak.

 _How quickly word has spread over such a great distance..._

"This Summit _is_ my business," growled Miraak impatiently. "Respect and tradition demands that you let me pass."

His horse fidgeted, ears flattening for a moment. The mount danced slightly, impatient.

"Tradition be damned. There is no respect for traitors!" Hissed the guard.

The dragonborn determined that he would have to make them respect him. He felt the dragon inside, snarling with indignation. The beast snorted, fire building in its throat. He wanted to kill them... And why not? No one would miss these lowly men good enough only to guard a gate. Miraak's mind began forming the words almost against his own will.

 _Yo-_

Another guard rushed from the cover of a small overhang nearby. Her expression was alert under her helmet, and she never once looked at Miraak. She hurriedly explained to the other guard, "The council authorized passage for this one...should he come, that is."

"I don't see why," snapped the guard. "The only thing he should be authorized is a decapitation. We should arrest him here and now..."

"I'd like to see you try..." Miraak said, deadly promise in his voice.

Slowly, the gate guards stood back, pulling open the doors that closed off the great city from the outside world. The dragonborn rode through those gates, never looking back. His senses were soon assaulted by the typical commotion within the city. Open to the sky, but laced with intricate and beautiful architecture, it was a sight to behold once again.

Miraak was reminded of how quickly a year could steal away one's perception of a place such as this. Had it always been so large and so noisy? Soon, his mundane thoughts drained away, and an unsettling feeling filled him. He couldn't shake his apprehension, which increased with each step. Here, the fate of the land would be decided. It was hard to feel comfort. At least, not until his task was complete.

 _Yes, it has always been so loud,_ Miraak decided, his thoughts overcome by the cacophony.

The traders were just inside the gates; hunters, farmers, fishermen, tribesmen, and other such merchants hung around, shouting and being noisy. Bartering filled the air along with songs from musicians, lofty complaints from low-ranking dragon priests, and the chants ringing from the temple. On top of it all, the occasional roar of a dragon rang over the slopes of the mountains.

The Summit was a special and popular time. It lured in many from the wilderness. It was a time to worship the dragons in a unified way, something they did not allow on such a large scale at any other time of the year. Often times, many dragons would fly in and out through the days of the sacred, traditional Summit, enjoying the benefits of being heralded and praised. There were sacrifices, rituals, and chanting. As the common saying went, everything done here was in "honor to the dovah".

It had once been very important to Miraak. Now, he was disgusted to realize the deceiving creatures received so much undeserved attention.

He reigned in his mount, swinging his leg from the saddle. He stretched his muscles, stiff after the long ride. Grabbing his mount's reins, he led it to the stables, anyone in his way quickly ducking out of sight. Not long after, Miraak was watching a stable hand lead the horse away. He turned southward, which was the direction of the temple.

 _Time to enact destiny._

Then, his progress was halted.

"Miraak!" A voice called.

He immediately recognized that voice, so he did not feel any anger at its informality.

He turned, eyes widening slightly under his mask. He'd completely missed her, being so tied up in his own thoughts. The low-ranking priest stood outside a nearby stall, her hands upon a gray mare's forehead. When their gazes met, her hands dropped, and he could only stare for a moment. The priest rushed towards him, her robes flowing as she all but ran. She reached him and halted, staring. For a moment they both simply observed each other. Then, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It is good to see you, Brother!" She exclaimed. She overcame her excitement, lowering her arm.

"Tovitaa… Sister."

"By the dovah! Is it true what they've been saying. Miraak, have you really...?"

Her masked face stared at him. Because of this, he could not read her expression. With a sigh, Miraak's shoulders sank. Perhaps Tovitaa's reaction to his news would give him an idea of what he might face ahead. He gestured to move their conversation outside the stables, for he could see the stable hand's curious face pointed in their direction.

They left at a walk, Miraak contemplating what had happened. He hadn't really expected to see his sister so soon. He had not seen her in quite some time, and last he'd heard, she had not been granted leave of the temple - even for the Summit. He wasn't ready to speak with her, but he'd have to try. He wasn't sure how to start saying what needed to be said, since all of his prepared words were more suited for the hard-as-stone council priests. It was so much easier when he felt less obligated for tact, but now...

 _She'll need my words to ring true, or I have lost possibly the only true ally I've always had._

He thought for a moment.

He was careful in his response, saying, "...it is rather complicated."

"What's complicated, Miraak? If you've really betrayed the Dragon Order, then what are you doing here?" They halted after crossing a small courtyard; there was no one in the immediate vicinity, a small miracle during the Summit. Her eyes glittered through the slits in her mask when she faced him.

"I betrayed no one. They call me a traitor because I've discovered a truth they would hide from us all out of petty fear."

Somewhere far away, a dragon roared. Both turned their gazes skyward. Off in the distance, a burst of dragon fire reached into the atmosphere, rising above the tallest buildings in the city. There was a loud, collective yelling in human voices, full of appreciation for blood.

"Looks like the _Zin-Krifs_ have started," Tovitaa said. She looked at Miraak again. "And you are rather late. Then what you've done...it's true... You should probably just leave Bromjunaar while you can. Do you know what they'll do to you?"

"They cannot silence the truth," Miraak replied.

"They could silence the supposed truth...if they silence you."

"Tovitaa, listen to me. I have killed Sosvulzein...and they would let that detail slip, wouldn't they? That must be Vahlok's doing… Regardless, the dovah must know by now."

She went very still. "Lord Sosvulzein's dead? Impossible... Blasp-" she stopped herself short.

"And so one would think," Miraak said. "That's exactly what they have indoctrinated us to believe. But _I_ have discovered that the dragons are not invincible... Sosvulzein will never rise again. I have his very skeleton to prove it. In fact, I carry a piece of it with me here."

He reached into his robes. He withdrew his hand, clasping a large object. She shook her head slowly as apparent realization dawned on her.

"No..." She reached out and touched the dragon's fang.

"Take it," he said. "Remember what I've done."

She accepted it, examining it carefully. She looked up at his mask. "Y-you...really don't get it? Do you know what this means?"

"It means our very existence has been a lie since the first days men walked this land and submitted to the dragons."

"No... Miraak, no one's going to believe this."

"The evidence is there. Of course, I could see men like Vahlok willing to stifle it all in the name of _peace_." He hissed spitefully.

"These people have done... _terrible deeds_ , in the service of the dovah. Do you really believe they're just going to suddenly start agreeing with you? These men and women have been with the dovah a long time, and they aren't about to trust you, Miraak. You've been reluctantly accepted in the council for what? About five years now? You know that they do not respect you well..."

"If they do not see reason, then I will keep killing dragons until they do. One day, we must realize that the natural order prevails. The strong will throw off the weak, and the true leaders shall rise."

She shook her head. "Whatever your plan of action...I know they will not give you the chance to enact it. I am sure. You really expect to march in on the council like this and come out alive? Don't be a fool, Brother!" She beseeched.

"I'm the fool?!"

"You just turned the most powerful of this land against you! And why? Because of your pride. You wouldn't dare kneel to another, despite the obligations of loyalty! I have not forgotten. I am loyal to Lord Morokei and the dovah!"

Miraak stiffened. "And that's it for you?" he demanded. "Will you blindly serve a cruel race that is not actually your better?"

"If what you say about the dovah is true." She sighed heavily. "I...need to think, Brother." she said.

"I know the actions of the order bother you! How much you used to complain of it! Here is the chance to turn that around. Yet, you still fall in line."

"And exactly what do you expect of me? I cannot just pick up arms against everyone around me. Maybe that's easy for you, but I don't even know how to fight beyond bows and a few weak spells!"

"You're right… It is different for you, I forgot. I apologize." His anger evaporated marginally. He relaxed a little. He needed to save his fire for the council. "Then we need more if these people to see, and that is why I am here."

"I just...cannot believe this has happened." She looked at him closely. "There's something different about you."

"I am more confident of my power than ever."

"No...it's not just that. There's just...this feeling." She shook her head. "Miraak, you must seek another way to approach the council. This one is very...tactless. You need to approach this in a more...patient and gentle manner."

Miraak gave a frustrated sigh. "This is not a patient or gentle matter! You are starting to sound like Vahlok."

"Father is wiser than you know."

Miraak snorted. "He is cunning, I'll give the man that much. However, he cannot see beyond his own hood."

"And how far do you see when you look at him, Miraak?"

"Do not judge me, Sister, it is not your place. I see clearly enough now. No more lies."

He heard the dragon howl again. Miraak looked up once more. A great clamour rose on the breeze. There were shouts and screams punctuating the drone. The sky was filled with more fire, followed by a bout of icy waves.

 _The dragons, for all their might and cruelty, are respected. Perhaps Tovitaa is correct...but I will not give up without trying. Not after that two-week journey just to reach this place... Not after I killed Sosvulzein and stole his very soul._

 _No, I will not falter. Not now._

Miraak looked away from the sky.

Tovitaa spoke, "I will keep the fang for now, Brother. I'll remember what you said...what you've done... But I cannot help this blatant crusade of yours in a fighting manner… Perhaps I can lay the idea down here and there...see how...pliable the others of the order are."

He clasped her shoulder. She jumped a little in surprise.

"You are cunning, Sister. Perhaps more than you realize."

"Then I share something with Father."

"That's not what I meant."

"It's alright. I am not offended."

"I would be."

"I know."

She turned the dragon's tooth over in her hand, examining the dried blood on its tip. She decided she didn't want to know why it was there. She ran her thumb over it, testing its surface.

"Dragonbone." She looked up again. "Miraak, if you must approach the council, you should at least wait until the Zin-Krifs are over."

"I will," Miraak said. "I need their full attention."

"Now, Brother, before you go and get yourself killed, let us take a walk."

"Fine."

Brother and sister strode side by side down the lanes of Bromjunaar Gaard. As they walked, Miraak noted that the noises from the Zin-Krifs were steadily dying down on the wind. Where they went, people became noticeably more quiet, speaking in hushed tones. It was as if these peasants were trying to escape notice.

Miraak decided not to speak further upon the matter of their dragon overlords. He chose a more pleasant, conversational line of speech. "Sister, have you been transferred again, or do you still serve Morokei? I know what you said, but..."

"No, I haven't been transferred again. I think I've finally found my place. Lord Morokei says I'm a great enchantress. I've been creating enchanted weapons and armor for Konharik's army, so I'm staying here in _Gaard_ for awhile. Also, I'm thinking of taking up alchemy..."

"Seems useful."

"But what of you? I heard you killed eighteen priests in the last month alone."

"Indeed. Apparently there are those who care to keep count more than I do."

"What in Nirn would cause so much infighting?"

"It was mostly tussles for leadership, of course. I prevailed, naturally. Besides, the more priests who died, the happier Sosvulzein was..." He shot her a glance. "Have you never seen Lord Morokei kill another who thought himself better?"

"No, actually. I think everyone already accepts the fact they stand no chance against him."

"Then his time of strife has come and gone, but I guarantee he killed plenty of foolish priests in his day. But what of his dragon masters? Do they not demand blood?"

"They do, but he never kills other priests. I am glad I do not have to involve myself with such matters..."

The two passed through a crowded market, the conversation dying away for the moment. Several peasants stepped back or turned away, their voices failing, but Miraak was oblivious to them. He was so used to this common action, that it went over his head completely. His thoughts were beginning to wander. They were soon out of the market, heading to nowhere in particular.

Tovitaa sighed, "the masks always equal fear."

"What?"

"Those people, didn't you see the way they cowered and stopped talking? It's the masks we wear. It makes us...inhuman to them."

"It's quite helpful in certain situations." Miraak inputted, barely listening.

"Brother..."

"They must respect the priests...they represent their...law..." Miraak trailed off. "I suppose that is what it used to be for me, anyway."

"Yes...I suppose."

"Why am I telling this to you, Tovitaa? Surely this is obvious to you, as well? This happens all the time. For centuries, the peasants who live closest to the dragons, fear the priests the greatest."

"I do know it, Miraak. I just always thought the fear was because of men like Lord Hevnoraak. We are not all like him. The rumors you hear... No one ever joins his service willingly, you know."

"He knows himself well. That's why he chose such a name for himself."

"You wouldn't...ever be like him, would you?" She stopped in the street.

"Like...Hevnoraak?" Miraak said, also stopping. He glanced over his shoulder. "I do not need another's example to live by. Besides, he is still serving the dragons, last I checked."

"That's not what I meant, Brother, and you know it. You will need support...I predict. If others are not willing to see your way...then, would you...?"

"If you are referring to his...tendencies...to _oblige_ others. I must say no, I have no intentions of that. The man has a love of pain and fear even I do not know and a heart as cold as the snow in the skies of Kiezaal. Besides, I do not need to _force_ respect in such a manner, when I have power."

"Good," she said. She shook her head very slightly. "Let's go watch the _Lahvraan Revkoron_. It's the only ceremony that seems to not have death or pain with it."

"I suppose it'd be more interesting than wandering _Gaard_ all day, waiting for my chance to speak with the rest of the council."

"Then let us go."

Brother and sister turned, their thoughts on the ceremony ahead. Miraak decided it might prove interesting, witnessing it from an outside perspective - something he had not done in years. Then again, he supposed it would still be different than back then.

 _Yes, it will prove most interesting indeed,_ he decided.

* * *

 **.**

* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dovahzul Translations-**

Bromjunaar Gaard - Northern-Kingdom Sanctuary  
Zin-Krifs - Honor-Fights  
Lahvraan Revkoron - Gathering Ceremony  
Gaard - Sanctuary


	8. Power Not of Daedra

~D~

VIII. Power Not of Daedra

(Suleyk ni do Deyra)

A crowd of priests hindered Tovitaa's and Miraak's progress, the people uncomfortably close. However, those around them began to back away whenever they saw Miraak's imposing figure, his gold mask and blue robes. They acted cautious, sensing that something was off, uncertain. There were whispers that trailed the air, remnants of faint promises. The glances flashed white, eyes prying, trying to measure and see without being seen in return. For Miraak, he never spared them a second glance, accustomed to ignoring such gazes. This was not unusual.

That was why Tovitaa's words surprised him. "Take off your mask!" she hissed.

"What?" Miraak asked in astonishment. "Why?"

"All that gold is making you stand out. Miraak, no low-ranking priest has a gold-coated mask."

"I do not fear these people."

She sighed, finally showing impatience. Her whisper was harsh. "Miraak, it's not about that. It's about efficiency. Do you really want to try and fight your way through this entire place. By the spirits! As if your elaborate robes weren't already an obvious indicator."

"I am not changing my robes."

"Lose the mask! It will help."

Whispers were starting to arise around them like the wind heralding a storm, and Tovitaa saw suspicious glances being thrown their way. The faceless crowd around them began to unnerve her whenever a mask turned to scrutinize them. Any moment, she expected a horde of guards to descend upon them, arrest Miraak for being a traitor and her for simply keeping stride with him.

"Damn it, Brother," she breathed. "I'm not getting arrested for being seen by your side! Now lose your mask. No one knows your actual face!"

" _Alright_ ," Miraak conceded, hands clenching slightly.

He did not fear the others, but he knew her reasoning was sound. There was no need for unwanted attention. He pulled off his mask with some reluctance, tucking it into his robes, pushing his hood back. The icy wind hit his face and his hair swept back. It felt unexpectedly fascinating to expose himself to the frosty elements of Keizaal. However, he also was aware of the faint dimming in his power with the enchanted mask gone. This fact ignited more irritation in his veins, and he felt the edge of his temper like a sharp blade in his chest.

Tovitaa led the way further into the crowd. Her brother followed with ease. Now, though people glanced at the elaborately-dressed priest, they gave it far less thought than before; they were not as prying, curious, or uncertain. Unless they saw his face. Then, the lack of the mask actually seemed to make them even more curious.

At least, without it, they would be unlikely to suspect who he really was.

 _Some things can't be helped._

Miraak found it strange to assume this kind of anonymity. An anonymity that could only be granted by taking away his mask. It was odd, indeed, to expose his face - like one of the peasants that'd helped in the displaying of Sosvulzein's remains. He scratched his chin, feeling the pressure of his thoughts building. The feeling left his stride stiff, but his movements confident.

"Brother," Tovitaa said, "I almost forgot what your face looked like. You wear too much gold."

"Thank you, Sister, for your kind assessment," Miraak responded sardonically, trying not to let the tension show.

"You are welcome."

Finally, they managed to see what the crowd had gathered for. The men and women in service of the dragons grouped around a large ring of men who stood in the center of a raised dais. It was the council of the highest priests in the order, the _Dovah Relahmik_ \- Dragon Council. Once, Miraak would have been with them, standing next to them. He would have been silently proud too, unknowing his mistake. How things had changed.

 _I'm apparently a traitor, h_ e thought bitterly. _I will change their minds, one way or another..._

He recalled the way his followers had acted when Vahlok had poisoned their minds by holding the black book and speaking his clever, corrupting words. He fixed his gaze upon the man now, hatred twisting his gut in anger. The raw sword of irritation was carving at his willpower, but he was trying to keep it stowed away in its scabbard.

 _To believe such a powerless man is my father,_ he thought indignantly. _A man who must resort to his words for victory. Weak._

Now that he gave it contemplation, he could not recall ever seeing the man use a spell stronger than what was required to light the temple braziers. He almost snorted aloud at the thought, but just then, the crowd fell completely quiet. A chilly wind blew over them, rippling the countless robes in the vicinity. The noise it created filled the silence like whispers of the dead.

A high priest with a mask even more ornate than Miraak's stepped forward from his spot, standing in the middle of the circle the others had created. His mask had tusks carved into it's gold and silver surface, marking him apart from his companion priests. When he spoke, his voice was deep and carrying, rich from years of leadership to the men who followed him and his service to the dovah.

"By our blood, do we gather here in Bromjunaar Gaard," he started, pausing.

 _"By our blood, do we gather here in Bromjunaar Gaard,"_ echoed the crowd, the combined words ringing with eeriness.

"Today is a glorious day. As the sun sets this eve, let the gods know you are worthy."

Miraak tensed. He felt a tug at his sleeve, and turned to see his sister staring at him. She shook her head, silently requesting him to keep his presence unknown.

 _Not now,_ she seemed to be saying.

He forced himself to relax a little, but the scowl hadn't left.

Another of the priests stepped forward, standing by the other. His mask was dark steel, glowing with blue power and magicka.

The first high priest continued. "For every ounce of strength you hold, my brothers and sisters, the gods have bestowed on us our abilities. Let us hold to them, on this day, the burdens of our tributes. Offer them your voices, and sing of their might. Offer them your hands, that you might work their will. Offer them your being, that you might influence our world. Our great civilization is bound together by our strength. We are the mightiest nation on Mundus!"

The second spoke, his voice baritone, accented, and pleasant, "our magicka and blades serve the first of this land. The Destroyer, the World-Devourer, the Firstborn be honored by the deeds in the _Zin-Krifs_! May the gods be pleased by our might and determination. May our steel, magicka, and enchantments fell all who dare oppose us! We are the _Dovah Relmaar_!"

The crowd agreed with loud assent, chorusing, _"By rightful rule of the Destroyer, the World-Devourer, the Firstborn!"_

Miraak gritted his teeth, clamping his mouth shut. A shadow fell across the crowd, and a roar shook the air and land. All gazes turned to the afternoon sky. A large gray dragon descended from the heavens, jaws snapping together loudly. It landed on an archway nearby, flapping its wings. The ground shuddered under its weight. It lashed its tail, rearing its horned, magnificent head.

Miraak felt disbelief, for he recognized the dragon.

It howled, "I am Paarthurnax, your overlord! Brother to the Destroyer, Alduin- _Thuri_ himself! Hear my voice and revel in my power." The dragon raised his head and Shouted, "YOL!"

Fire exploded into the welkin. He flared his wings, showing all of his gleaming, magnificent body, allowing the sun shine to fall over him more fully.

 _There is Paarthurnax himself!_ _Not but a hundred paces away!_ Miraak thought. His very being burned. The dragon within stirred, a challenging snarl on its jaws. He shifted, tensing. Tovitaa grabbed his arm again, but he barely noticed.

Paarthurnax leaned forward, eyeing the council below with eagerness in his pale blue eyes. " _Vrah, gir wah faal Konahrik and faal Morokei gein_!" he declared. " _Hi fen pah qiilaan wah zey_!" He wanted them to bow to him.

So naturally, they did.

Konahrik bended immediately with his compatriot, Morokei, and the other priests followed suit.

Tovitaa had to all but drag Miraak down. He clenched his jaw, beginning to regret his decision to attend this. He hadn't realized this was the day for Paarthurnax to show. The dragon inside him was raging now, thrashing about madly in the need for a fight. Its bright eyes were locked upon Alduin's brother, ready to tear and shred. It wanted the dovah's blood. He fought it with all of his willpower. He shot Tovitaa a look. She shook her head, silently imploring him to stay down. He looked away, back to the dragon, never giving a definite answer.

Paarthurnax breathed fire again, obviously enjoying his hold over the mortals. He shifted, beating his wings majestically. " _Hi gemogur zey! Hi gemogur Alduin! Alok!_ " He ordered them to rise, stating his pleasure at their obedience.

The priests stood once again.

Alduin's brother continued, " _Nuz gein los nusaan nol het, nid?_ One is missing... Vahlok," he rumbled at the priest. "...you are... _onik_...knowledgeable. Speak to me of the... _vax_...the traitor I've heard of. _Gein do faal Relahmik._ One of the council...no?"

The dragon leaned his weight against the archway, head low and gaze keen upon the priest.

 _Oh no_ , Tovitaa thought. _No. No..._

She started to pull Miraak, wanting to leave before this decision became irreversible, but he shrugged her away. His eyes had not left the dragon for a while now. Though she could not see his expression, she could practically feel his hate and anger radiating from his tense form. It was a dark aura, feeling far more sinister than any typical anger. This was the hatred of an ancient creature to his lifelong nemesis, and it didn't make sense to her.

"Brother, let us slip out of here," she whispered, though she knew it was useless.

"No," he hissed back, his voice cold.

"Indeed, Lord Paarthurnax," Vahlok responded to the dragon stiffly. "He is not with us on this day. I know not where he is."

"And why is that, hmmm?" Paarthurnax asked with a deceptively-calm voice. However, his teeth were bared in an angry display. "Should not this _jul_...man have _luft pentaar nalkun_... been punished long before now? Will you _ni nahlok Sosvulzein's krah naas_?" He seemed to be trying to speak the language of mankind, but kept slipping back into his native tongue. He turned his gaze around, a snarl raising from his throat. "Will there be no justice from... _sahlag joor muz_?"

He wanted justice from the pathetic mortals before him, for Sosvulzein. He wanted Miraak's punishment.

Tovitaa froze, she saw a glint of gold in the corner of her eye.

 _Miraak's mask! No..._

He pulled his hood up, and the gold was hidden, but there. Already, she heard the whispers of uncertainty behind her. They had seen it. These people had seen it. What could she do? She stared at her brother helplessly.

"Is that...?" Someone whispered.

"I don't know..." another responded.

"Would he dare?"

Vahlok spoke, his voice steady, "this traitor will be brought to justice, of course, Thuri Paarthurnax, as soon as the ceremonies end. We only did receive word of this apparent madness over Lord Sosvulzein. Rest assured, my Thuri, he has nothing now. His people left him when they saw his wicked power."

Even now, Vahlok wielded his words in a cunning way. Miraak found it strange how dangerously close Vahlok was to lying. If he slipped and was found out, they'd burn him alive for sure.

Paarthurnax seemed calmed by the response. "Yes, this _suleyk_. This power. _Nid nunal joor vust nos vozahlaas dovah tum_..." He did not believe a 'mere mortal' could kill another dragon.

"Indeed," Vahlok responded, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "you are right, Thuri. He is _nid nunal joor_. He has sold himself to a Daedra in exchange for his power! To Herma-Mora himself."

A gasp rose from the crowd.

Paarthurnax hissed, his tail lashing. "Of course...it is likely! _Nii los vismindoraan tol Sosvulzein_ fell."

Now Tovitaa would not be ignored, but for an entirely different reason than before. "Is that true!?" She demanded, staring at Miraak. There was no caution or subtlety in her voice.

"No," Miraak said. "I have sold myself to nothing."

"And yet, there is dark energy about you! It radiates like a disease... I knew something was off!"

"I have had these gifts for a long time...I was shown them by..." He growled, growing frustrated with his sister. "You would not understand it!"

"Indeed, you have, haven't you? So that's what this is about? Why do such a terrible thing!?"

She backed away from him, staring at his empty mask.

The people around them were beginning to gesture at him and whisper. There was a conviction to their words this time. He could hear it rising like fire on the wind around him. He turned away from them all, but it was too late.

His identity was realized.

"VAX!" Someone yelled in alarm, as if they'd just seen a diseased beggar. "His wicked presence is amongst us!"

Everyone's attention was now on the commotion.

Miraak observed everyone backing away from him until he stood by himself.

 _How typical this is becoming…_

Slowly, he faced the Dragon Council and Paarthurnax. Vahlok stiffened considerably. If Miraak hadn't been anxious before, he felt it now with the harsh gazes and negative attention upon him. The dragon within, though, soon snuffed all doubts, snapping to rapt attention. Its fire was scorching his insides with the desire for blood and burning away the disquiet.

"Why, what a fool!" Exclaimed an old man's voice somewhere in the crowd. "To come here and present himself in such a pretentious manner!"

Miraak crossed his arms and strode forward, never flinching.

Konahrik hissed, "freeze, traitor!" His hand raised, shining with fire.

Paarthurnax snorted, smoke flooding from his jaws. He shifted, turning his head to observe the lone mortal below.

Miraak took a few more steps, and then stopped. He was a mere seven or eight paces from the Council.

Vahlok shook his head. "Tell me you are here to repent for you actions, Miraak. Nothing else makes sense." His tone was oddly desperate.

Miraak smiled in spite of himself. He was surely ruining the man's grand moment of clever speech with such a renowned dragon.

The dragonborn responded, "I have nothing to repent for! I am here to tell you the truth!" He pointed at Paarthurnax, his conviction rising in the form of the dragon inside. "This beast is not a GOD!" He roared.

He expected some dawning realization to befall them. He expected them to start muttering about the thought-provoking statement. He expected them to ask him for his evidence, and he would respond by recounting Sosvulzein's unceremonious demise.

None of that happened. Instead, Paarthurnax swung his head towards Konahrik. "Who is this joor?!" He demanded, smoke rising from his nostrils.

"No one worthy, my lord. Merely the traitor!"

Paarthurnax's tail lashed the air. "Then he is beneath my notice."

"Really now?" Miraak asked loudly.

"Guards!" Vahlok ordered. "Remove this man! He is interrupting the sacred ceremony. If he has business here, let it be finished later!" He waved his hand dismissively. "Punishment will wait until the sacred days are finished!"

There was no way this was happening. They were ignoring him, of all things! Miraak could barely believe the ease with which they were content to brush him off. He saw several of the council members beginning to mumble to themselves, though he knew it had nothing to do with his thought-provoking statement. It was likely due to Vahlok's decision of his delayed punishment. They'd prefer to hasten that...but to speak against the idea now would weaken their apparent unity in the eyes of the dragon above them.

Then, one of the council stepped forward, his gaze locked upon Miraak. The dragonborn knew enough of this man to feel faintly daunted by the simple action. The man remained silent because he was not granted permission to speak at that moment. His stance was still, and his hands were loose. Despite his relaxed posture, the dragonborn felt all the black hostility radiating from him with a darker hatred than what he could ever conceive. His very mask screamed his identity in a ruthless way. The black metal had been cleverly designed to appear interwoven like threads. Crimson lines wound down the length of it like bloodied wounds. The retained metallic sheen gleamed unnatural scarlet. The harsh eyes behind the demented mask were midnight-black, accented by the white around them. They shone, wide and rumored to be terrifying to his victims.

Perhaps the most unnerving part of it all, was how the absolute silence conveyed his every horrific intention. Miraak could not shake the feeling of deep bloodlust that he felt glowering at him. The dragon inside hissed threateningly, growing uneasy. A chill came over the dragonborn, and the inner dovah shuddered, wings folding. He met the gaze, hating how even he was this rattled by this man. He felt he was staring at a demonic fiend sent from the pits of Oblivion to bring pain to others. There was no doubt of who this man was, despite the time that had passed since he'd last seen him.

He was Hevnoraak, the lord of brutality.

Despite the discomfort the other's silence granted him, Miraak was intent on the point he had to make. He dragged his gaze from the brutal one, trying to ignore him and appear unbothered in equal measure. The dragonborn stared directly at Paarthurnax. He yelled, "I would kill you, Paarthurnax! Face me, and we shall expose this lie!"

"You dare!?" Exclaimed Konahrik.

"You are _Nid-Gein, Vax!_ However..." Paarthurnax trailed off. He shifted his wings, staring at the former dragon priest. "Yes, there is something different about you, isn't there? _Atruk vomedaas hin zeyliik het? Vomindok suleyk. Ni deyra_ …not daedra. No, it is your blood...your _sos_. I can hear and smell it...like meeting another _dovah_ , but in the shape of a man... How convoluted," Alduin's brother added in a growl, apparently disgusted.

"Then you see!" Miraak yelled. "This is no Daedra's power! However, it is a power that can kill you! You know it, and it frightens you!"

" _JOOR LOS DII KRII, KONAHRIK_!" Paarthurnax roared and took flight, the ground shaking as his wings swept the air.

He swooped low, and Miraak tensed, thinking he would attack. Instead, the beast changed course and took to the sky, a blaze of fire erupting from his jaws. He disappeared from view, his howls echoing in his wake.

"Does the wyrm fear me!?" Miraak shouted. "Why leave after such a declaration!?"

"Enough!" Vahlok said roughly.

A group of armed men approached Miraak.

"You heard your overlord!" he yelled at them all. "You heard his voice. _Ni deyra_! My power is not Daedric influence!"

"Take him from here!" Konahrik ordered. "I do not wish to hear from this one again until after the ceremony!"

Miraak decided he would let the guards escort him out. However, he would have his due. He had once been told that fighting was useless in certain situations, though he had forgotten who had spoke such words and when. With Paarthunax beyond his reach, this was obviously not the time to reveal his power - not yet. He was not about to give up, though. He locked gazes with Vahlok for a minute before the men led him away.

The meaning was crystal clear.

 _This isn't over. It will not end, until every last dragon is cast down!_

* * *

Miraak had time to reflect. It was now clear that he should have waited until a better opportunity had presented itself before approaching the council, but he had come away with one helpful advantage. He felt certain he could make some headway after appearing as he had. They would have time to think on this day's events. Miraak had seen Paarthurnax's reaction, heard his words. They all had.

It would sow doubt in their minds.

He stood alone with his only thoughts for company. The occasional passerby always hastened their step when they saw him. He cared not.

He wasn't sure where Tovitaa had went...but surely she couldn't believe the lies, could she? Not truly, anyway. Still, her reaction earlier suggested otherwise. He shouldn't have acted so quickly, he knew. Perhaps part of his decision had been fueled by how he struggled with loyalty to the unworthy, like Tovitaa had said. Why was it so hard for her to understand? For them all to understand?

Miraak gritted his teeth, leaning against the wall. The memory of the ceremony kept playing over and over again in his mind. He couldn't stop recollecting the way they'd backed away from him like a disease. He couldn't believe how that word - traitor, vax - had spilled from their mouths with such hatred.

Was he truly making headway? Or did they simply view him as a hot-headed rebel? True, Miraak had always been a little rebellious. He figured this was probably due in no small part to his father. Vahlok had the respect of others. He was cunning with words and full of experience. Miraak still could not fathom how a man who had not fought and killed for even an ounce of his power could gain such favor. The respect that was given to Vahlok had never been shared with his son.

Miraak, the brash and inexperienced but natural leader. That's what they said, even now. Because that's how they had remembered him. Today had reminded him of that.

When he'd finally killed another - Liikriid, he recalled - to gain his position as head priest of the temple dedicated to Sosvulzein, he was allowed to attend the Summit in recognition of his new title. However, he could still recall how slowly it'd taken the others to accept him as something barely resembling an equal, being that he was the youngest of them all. Arrogant, they had said...as if they weren't all arrogant themselves. Even now, he was reasonably certain he was no better than the 'wooden man' to them.

The 'wooden man' was literally the statue of wood containing a strange mask that hummed with power. In a sense, it was utterly useless. Konahrik, the warlord and head of the Dragon Council, laid claim to this wooden mask. He stated it was his alone, though he seemed to make no use of it. Rumors said that even the old warlord was still trying to unlock its powers. No one seemed to know what it did. According to some, it had been around long before any of the others had risen to power - a relic of their ancestors.

He pulled his thoughts from that, not wanting to be side-tracked, and began pacing.

Miraak remembered how, during his first Summit, he'd watched in incredulity as Konahrik greeted Vahlok with little reserve. They were perfectly at ease in each other's presence, like old war veterans from the same army. It was easy to see who the warlord dragon priest would choose as the leader of the Dovah Relahmik to succeed him; the head of the Dragon Council was chosen by the current one in his declining years.

It was a huge honor.

Miraak could not understand how it could go from a warlord...to a man of peace. He'd be trampled out for sure by opposition. Respect or no, the moment the government quit working correctly, everyone would fling tradition to the wind. Then, it would descend into the typical wars for power that had prevailed in the past. Surely the dragons would intervene at such a point. It really wasn't that unusual. Major wars were waged quite often by priests seeking power. The dragons had to re-organize the council every few centuries to try and bring a guise of peace to their tumultuous nation. It wasn't that the dragons disliked the bloodshed, they just didn't want all of their followers dead, Miraak reflected. Who would be left to praise them, after all, if everyone was dead?

Miraak had also seen Hevnoraak's increasing influence behind the scenes for the past few years. There was no way that man would stay in line when he saw the opportunity to jump ahead. His power and initiative were both respectable. If Konahrik were to die, Hevnoraak would surely slip into the position, pulling the rug out from under his opposition with his typical ruthless efficiency and sadism. Miraak couldn't suppress the faintest of shudders in his mind when he thought of the black mask with the scarlet glow. Before the ceremony, he had forgotten how daunting the man was. No one would rebel against such a tyrant as Hevnoraak should he rise to such a position of power. No one under his service had ever succeeded in rebelling against him. No one ever would.

But someone _would_ kill Vahlok, one day. Miraak wanted that privilege dearly. How could a man who never used his power be too strong to kill?

Either way, the next succession for the position of head of the council would be bloody. Miraak was determined to be at the front of the competition, and to have the dragons under his heel by then. He would gain true power and prestige. Even Hevnoraak would not oppose a dragon army that obeyed the dragonborn. He would raise a great nation with the most powerful of men. He would defeat more dragons, bringing the false gods to the earth. He would slay them, steal their power, and prove his Thu'um superior to theirs until they submitted. He knew he'd have to fight for every inch of that power, but he was more than prepared.

When the rites were done, Miraak knew. The sun was setting in the sky, and all noises had faded. By now, little flurries of snow were drifting from the sky. He moved towards the temple quickly, not wanting to waste this opportunity. The Dragon Council would be meeting now. He could think of no better opportunity to try again.

* * *

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* * *

 **End of Chapter.**

 **Dovahzul Translations -**

 _Dovah Relmaar - Dragon Government. (A/N - In my head, Dragon Order)_  
 _Vrah, gir wah faal Konahrik and faal Morokei gein! Hi fen pah qiilaan wah zey. - Indeed, listen to the Warlord and the Glorious One! You will all bow to me._  
 _Hi gemogur zey! Hi gemogur Alduin! Alok! - You satisfy me! You satisfy Alduin! Arise!_  
 _Nuz gein los nusaan nol het, nid? - But one is gone from here, no?_  
 _Onik - Wise_  
 _Vax - Traitor_  
 _Gein do faal Relahmik. - One of the Council._  
 _Jul - Man_  
 _Luft pentaar nalkun - been punished already_  
 _ni nahlok Sosvulzein's krah naas. - not avenge Sosvulzein's cold corpse._  
 _Sahlog Joor Muz - Pathetic mortal men_  
 _Nid nunal joor vust nos vozahlaas dovah tum - No mere mortal could strike an immortal dragon down_  
 _Nid nunal joor - No mere mortal_  
 _Nii los vismindoraan tol - It is understandable that_  
 _Atruk vomedaas hin zeyliik het? Vomindok suleyk. Ni deyra... - Something unalike your brethren here? Unknown power. Not daedra..._  
 _Sos - Blood_  
 _JOOR LOS DII KRII, KONAHRIK! - MORTAL IS MY KILL, WARLORD!_


	9. Angry Voices of the Misled

**_A/N -_** _Date of Author's Note: 03/12/17 - This chapter has not yet been re-edited in my most recent re-read. I'm (currently) working on it._

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* * *

IX. Angry Voices of the Misled.

Miraak made his way up the stairs to the grand entrance. The temple was a sight to behold. Magnificent and splendid, its decorative arches soared into the air. The grand staircase lead to a great door within the mountainside, framed by an arch of carved stone. The door itself was round, opened only by a special key, or torc, carried by either Morokei or Konahrik. Throughout the days of the Summit, however, the temple remained unlocked and open to all, even when the high priests were meeting.

Miraak felt that this was his last chance to turn the situation to his advantage - to approach the Council and make them see truth.

He would not miss this chance.

Sentries stood in the watchtowers and on the stairs. Before the doors, they remained, silent and vigilant, by the statues of dragons and a popular carving of an ancient man. The man was known as the Clairvoyant.

The Clairvoyant was said to be the first to unite his kind under the great beasts of the sky. His was the only depiction allowed of humans other than the prestigious dragon priests. That being true, the Clairvoyant's actual face was the only allowed in art. Round, bearded, it seemed silly to Miraak now.

 _What a fool he must have been,_ Miraak thought idly. _They were all fools. They never should have worshipped the dovah._

Inside, the temple was warmer than he was expecting. High towering walls held blazing fires of warmth. There were tall statues along with elaborate carvings, most depicting dragons.

One large one even depicted Alduin, the destroyer, the eldest dragon, in full glory. His wings were exaggerated greatly, impossibly large, filling the borders of that section in the wall. The mortal masses bowed to him like ants below his massive claws. Fire blazed from his jaws, and somehow, the stone-carver had managed to capture his malevolence perfectly.

Alduin was probably the greatest anomaly of his brethren. It was highly debated what the true definition of "Firstborn" meant. Obviously, it meant the first dragon, but why did that grant him his great superiority? Was it the destiny of the firstborn of any race to be the greatest?

It was uncontested that Alduin had the strongest of thu'um, su'um, and suleyk of all the dovah.

 _The firstborn… I am the first dragonborn,_ Miraak thought idly. _Does that mean I am strong to mankind, as Alduin is strong to the dov?_

It was hard to know much about Alduin. Even though many knew of him, few had ever seen him. The destroyer never cared much for the happenings of the world, and hardly showed his over-scaly hide to even the Order. Where he preferred to linger instead, no one knew. Typically, Alduin would send others in his name, especially his rather violent sibling, Paarthurnax. Whether he just disliked worship, or mortals in general, was a matter for debate. However, the fact that he wanted full control over everyone was not disputed.

Miraak had only seen the fearsome Alduin once, during his first Summit. It'd been one of the only moments in his existence he'd truly feared for his life, believing he would die without a doubt. He would never forget it.

 _If ever a dragon had been terrifying, it was Alduin. His scales were black scythes. His eyes burned a deep red full of hatred and cruelty. His claws were jagged and twisted until Miraak could only assume that this being was the epitome of pure discomfort and rage._

 _Alduin roared. The ground rumbled as though it would split. The gathered priests all fell to their faces, begging to live. Moans of fear and cries for mercy spilled from their mouths._

 _Miraak lay, face down, just daring to look up._

 _He could see the monstrous dragon looming above them, snarling deeply. The shadow he cast covered them all in darkness, like night during day._

 _"Hi los balnu," He said in a voice like a tumbling mountain made of steel, deep and cruel. "Sahlag joor muz! Hin faas mebein ko su med volzah ahraan. ken do hin sil nau dii vun, ahrk Zu'u vis nunon siiv gein brah fah hi. Dinok. Fah nu, hin sahlom skem zey!" He thought death were mortals' only capability._

 _Miraak shivered in pure fear as the dragon's jaws descended. There was a scream of agony, and the body was flung through the air, slamming against a pillar with a sickening crunch. The world-devourer's claws raised, wings beating. He lifted into the air, landing amidst the crowd a moment later, crushing several priests. Their screams were lost when Alduin roared. His gaze was full of hatred. He crushed several more, his maw dipping into the survivors._

 _A body was split in two under his fangs, the legs falling into the sea of mortals. Blood dripped upon them, an unholy rain._

 _Alduin spat the rest out of the body out, distasteful. "Hin slen los ni visnaak, joor muz. Zu'u fen bo fah hin sil!" He did not like mortal flesh, and expressed his preference for souls._

 _The crowd fell deathly silent._

 _Alduin swung his head around and hissed, "Dovah Relahmik!"_

 _Several priests began to rise around Miraak, the Dragon Council. He forced himself to stand, shaking visibly. He hated how it felt, the pure fear resonating through his entire being. He walked with the Council, his breathing shaky. He didn't meet the red gaze of Alduin, afraid of seizing the monster-god's attention._

 _The destroyer growled, "Dii viilut, Zu'u oblaan faal Naar dahsul!" Alduin called off the Summit._

 _Miraak felt the others tense in disbelief, even as they murmured assent to the order._

 _Alduin growled, seeming to notice their reluctance. His head lashed down, and he snapped the man standing next to Miraak away. Miraak stumbled back, nearly crying out in fear, his feet tripping. The dragon flung the council member down onto the stones, howling. His talons raised and descended upon the body. Stomp after stomp, the screaming mortal was rendered to a pile of blood, meat, and straps of cloth._

 _Alduin looked back at them. He opened his jaws. Miraak could see fire in his throat. He knew they were all going to die._

I cannot believe this is how it ends...

 _Abruptly, the Firstborn found his self-control, clamping his jaws together._

 _"Zu'u lost qethserod," He rumbled._

 _His wings lifted, sweeping men away from them that were too close. He howled once more, shaking the temple to its foundation. Then, he was away, soaring into the sky. Miraak collapsed in limp relief, shuddering._

The Firstborn wasn't called the Destroyer for nothing. Alduin made no secret that one day, he would obliterate them all for the sheer pleasure of it. He'd paraded this promise to them, reminding them that they were only alive because it amused him for the time being. He also liked to remind them that they could never escape him. Even through death, he claimed to haunt the eternal grounds of the afterlife, devouring whatever soul he wanted, whenever he wanted, since mortal flesh held no value to him.

Yet, no one dared to rise.

Ever since that first Summit, Miraak had found little solace outside the constant bloodshed of his temple, which he'd been content to lose himself to. Every year that he had returned to the Summit was always met with apprehension, which faded when Alduin never showed.

Now, he was free of that trepidation.

He could not begrudge the ring and how its secrets had changed his very thought-process.

If Alduin's kin could fall, why couldn't he?

Miraak tried to imagine matching the massive beast in battle. His thoughts shrank away from it, remembering the crushing claws, snapping fangs, and the otherworldly fire filling the Firstborn's throat. The dragon within him even recognized such superiority. It cowered at the thought of trying to match its thu'um to such a monster.

He was disgusted with his own reaction.

 _I must find a way to rise beyond even Alduin...but that can wait._ _One matter at a time._

Miraak strode through the hall, pulling himself from his thoughts. These idle, somewhat-worrying musings would not help him. He needed his full attention focused for the council.

His footsteps echoed in the hallway's sheer emptiness. It seemed to taunt him, as if he were a fool to continue his journey here. When he reached the farthest door, his destination, he flung it open despite the voices on the other side and the persistent worry that it could only end badly for him.

He boldly interrupted the thirteen other priests of the Dragon Council.

There was a great round table within the remarkably unimpressive room. There was little decoration save for in the back, a carving of the fourteen dragon priests busts surrounded by carved dragon heads. This was the representative statue for the Council. It would turn to thirteen busts if he failed, Miraak knew. He'd be completely disowned by the Council for his actions if they believed he was wrong, which most of them did at this point.

In the center of the room, a fire blazed in a brazier, providing warmth. All thirteen gazes turned to the intruder. Konahrik leapt to his feet first from where he sat, his eyes bright with anger under his mask. The others followed him, equally indignant.

"Miraak!" The old warlord snarled. "How dare you show your face here!"

He remained still, never taking his eyes from the object of his anger. Konahrik's temper was less excitable, but when it poured forth, like it had earlier that day, most men felt the need to soil their robes. Miraak knew, though, that he was the exception to most men. For once, he was surprised he felt quite calm, despite the checked wrath pointing in his direction.

He responded as such, "I still have my mask, as far as I know. I belong here."

They stared at him, and he met their gazes slowly, one by one, refusing to back down. He re-examined Konahrik's narrowed eyes through the slits in the mask.

Morokei began speaking, faint anger in his words, "I believe that is merely a misstep on our part, Vax. There is no more need to keep up this show. We all know the truth, and your presence here is the utmost expression of your pure naivete. Did you really think to convince us that you killed Sosvulzein by yourself. Most likely, this entire treachery is the work of a rogue dovah."

Miraak shook his head, "I killed him myself. Vahlok bore witness." He looked to the man. Would he confirm it? Probably not.

Vahlok surprised him.

"It is...true," he said, sounding pained to admit it.

Morokei shook his head, silent.

"Miraak," Konahrik said, "do you even realize what you have done, you imbecile?!" He sounded even more agitated with his deep voice lowered.

"I slaughtered Sosvulzein like a diseased wolf. His corpse is cold, his power is mine. That is exactly what I have done."

Konahrik shook his head. "Yes, you made that quite clear… You are proud?"

"I am powerful."

Vahlok stated, "You are foolish. You saw Lord Paarthurnax earlier...and his reaction. He was absolutely terrible, ready to slaughter. I wouldn't doubt that he left merely to destroy a farmhold. Or a dozen..."

One of the other priest barked a laugh, a noise like a bird screech.

"I am not responsible for the dragon's actions." Miraak responded. "Why do you care what he does?"

A few hissed at the word 'dragon' without the proper respect.

"Yet," Vahlok answered, "you are the trigger to his actions. I care because without our farms, there will be no food to eat."

 _Pragmatic as ever._

The others began muttering hatefully, their voices sharp and full of anger. Contrastingly, the priest that'd chuckled before burst into even more cackling, as though a great joke had been shared.

"Otar?"

The man spoke in an old, ragged voice, "this is a fun little problem, isn't it?"

"It is not!" A man said, his fist slamming into the table upon the words. "This man is-"

"Yes, yes, Rahgot, we all know your opinion greater than we know our own feet!" He responded. He paced around the table, observing Miraak like he were some kind of anomaly. Miraak had to resist the urge to back away.

The man laughed again. "The worm has strangled a bird and stolen his nest. Hehehe, that comparison sets me on edge."

"As it should," Morokei said. "Let this one face his deserved end at our hands," he said, staring at Miraak.

"No, Morokei, you heard Thuri Paarthurnax… But we should all be wary." Konahrik agreed. "Stand back, Otar."

A tall priest spoke, leaning on the table. "But this power...is it truly from a daedra? Lord Paarthurnax's words..."

"Good question, Ahzidal," Konahrik sighed. "Miraak, let's be honest and get this over with."

"What are you speaking of?"

"You've sold your soul to Herma-Mora, the daedra. He, in turn, gave you the ability to slay a god. Is this not true?"

"Yes, let us have the truth, if nothing else," said Morokei.

Miraak looked around at them, tensing, "You still think I sold my soul to a daedra? That is not true. Would you simply brush off the words of your own lord? You would rather take Vahlok's cunning lies over that dragon's word? No. I've always had the ability. Hermaeus Mora showed me how to use it's full potential, but I did not make a deal with him!" He clenched his fists. "Look at you, Lord Konahrik... You stand here, debating like a foolish old man with memory loss! We should consolidate our power! Take the-"

"Silence! You cross many lines with your words!"

"And how much have you accomplished by staying in line, _Warlord_?"

"Some things are better off being left alone, and if you cannot see that, then you are an idiot!"

"It is better to ignore that we live a lie?!"

Konahrik scowled under his mask. "There is no lie, but yours."

A priest wearing a silver mask with a faintly white aura turned towards him. "It seems dishonorable, does it not?" She said, her words soft. "But we only know your truth for falsities, and be it truth, we do not know how to live with it,"

Miraak recognized Zin, a typically quiet priest.

"It is truth, and we are strong enough to live it through!" He said with conviction. "If we united, the dragons would never stand against us. Even the Destroyer would fall."

"The Destroyer is the only reason men fall in line," she whispered, too soft for the others to hear.

The man who stood beside her inputted, "that is ridiculous! The Destroyer would never fall!"

"You doubt, Zahkriisos?"

"We all know what you are clearly too dumb to realize!" Yelled Rahgot. "You are a stupid fool!"

The tension was steadily rising, and Miraak felt the crackling power resonating through the room as magicka waited to be called forth. He didn't want to fight here and now. But he would if he had to.

"This child is far beyond out of line, Konahrik," said a whispery voice. "Let me have him...for a day. All that pride and life will be crushed and drained. Then, in a humbled state of despair, we grant him release in death. Pain breaks even the strongest of wills."

Miraak, despite himself, felt a chill run down his spine. He turned his gaze to the haunting mask of darkness. Black eyes peered at him coldly. It took every ounce of conviction to stand before the master of brutality, even with several meters, a flaming brazier, and a table between them.

 _Why couldn't Alduin have killed him instead of the other man?_ Miraak couldn't help but suddenly think.

Hevnoraak turned his face to another slowly. At the last moment, his gaze followed. "What say you, Volsung?"

There was a nod from the silent figure. The figure was so slight, short, and buried in robes, that its mask was the only indication it existed at all in the folds of fabric. It nodded.

The priest spoke, and the voice was unmistakably female, high and pompous. "Why do we allow this one the voice to speak such words? I can hardly stand the sight of him."

Hevnoraak hissed like a snake. "We should start the twilight hours by cutting out his tongue. I shall feed it to the wolves of my hunters. Then I w-"

"Enough, Hevnoraak! Volsung!" Konahrik interrupted to the tune of Otar's insane cackling. "The boy is drunk on power."

"I'm not a mere boy!" Miraak retorted. "You all speak as if I am not responsible for my deeds! Would you detach yourself from my significance by calling me a child?"

"I'm almost in agreement with Hevnoraak, and you know that doesn't happen often," said a man carefully. "This is heresy of the worst kind. Betrayal...traitor to our mighty nation."

There was a pause with a tense silence.

"It's not our decision, Krosis," Konahrik said at last. "Thuri Paarthurnax wants this one. Remember his order? I do not know if it was simply in anger, but I don't dare act until he returns."

"Of course not," Miraak snapped. "You are simply a puppet, a toy."

"Obviously, Vax, this is a waste of time. You are a fool. Now leave, and perhaps you will make some distance before Thuri Paarthurnax pursues and kills you."

Miraak realized that he was indeed a fool, but not for the reasons these high priests claimed. He was a fool for believing he could persuade the Council. He was a fool for coming to the Summit. He was a fool for ever trying to reason with men and women as stubborn, if not more so, as he. He felt bitter anger.

He could accomplish nothing with these people.

He was not afraid of Paarthurnax, but he knew he should leave quickly.

Still, he couldn't help the part of him that wanted to have the last say, that rebellious side of him that had lead to this entire mess.

"I welcome that dragon," Miraak stated boldly, knowing his exit would be grand. "I will take his soul, too, like I took Sosvulzein's. And when I've destroyed Paarthurnax, I will have the power of the second strongest dragon in my veins to find Alduin and kill him - as well as all of their kin - and when I've taken every last dragon soul, you will begin to see things from my perspective, though it will be too late for you to make use of such knowledge."

That set the momentarily stifled anger afire. Merely mentioning Alduin's name, especially without the proper respect, could set a man up for death. Nevermind the entire speech Miraak had just spoken. He hadn't even really meant for his taunt to spill out quite like that either.

It was too late.

Hevnoraak was on his feet, surging around the table like a phantom in black robes, followed by two others.

His voice was darkly sweet when he spoke. "Don't worry, my dear Konahrik... I'll be sure to leave enough pieces for the gods to punish," he viciously whispered, his eyes burning in firelight through the slits of his mask.

Vahlok stepped in front of him, interrupting his progress. "Stop!" He commanded.

Hevnoraak shoved him roughly, but Vahlok held his ground and looked at the other priests who'd likewise been halted.

"Volsung! Rahgot! Get ahold of yourselves, all of you!"

Miraak had leaned into a fighting stance, anticipating the attack. His hands were up, blazing with fire. His eyes locked on Hevnoraak's, whose hands were flexing quite visibly, as if he were imagining strangling the rebellious priest and wanted everyone else to know it. Hevnoraak gripped Vahlok's robes like he had every intention of flinging him away so he could reach the dragonborn.

Konahrik folded his arms. "I _said_ , this is for Thuri Paarthurnax! You three, stand down!"

Reluctantly, Hevnoraak released Vahlok and backed up a few steps, still tense.

"This isn't done, young one," said Hevnoraak. "This isn't over. Pain and agony always find the foolish, and you are much more the fool than you were four years ago when you joined us! May your daedra pet curse you with a slow, pain-filled death!" He said in a damning tone.

That stoked Miraak's irritation. "The only pet around here is you!" He said.

Hevnoraak hissed viciously like a serpent. "Oooh, so you have spirit, do you? You are lucky that I will not be the one to crush it!" He sounded disappointed by this fact.

Vahlok was abruptly by Miraak's side. He seized his arm and yanked him around. "Come with me..." He all but dragged him towards the door.

Miraak shrugged his hands off, but followed, feeling hostile gazes burning his back. He was certain, that if it were not against the orders of Paarthurnax, he would have been in a nasty fight with the most powerful men in the nation.

He found he preferred his odds against the dragon.

"What are you thinking!?" Vahlok said in disbelief when they were on the other side of the door, which was securely shut. "I cannot believe you would antagonize Hevnoraak so! If you value the little honor you have left, you'll pray Thuri Paarthurnax kills you before Hevnoraak gets his hands on you. No one says things like that to him, and comes out the better for it!"

"Be quiet, Vahlok," Miraak responded. "I do not fear that serpent of a man."

"Well, you should! I don't have to repeat the stories... You should hold your tongue more often… Or if you had wielded it more wisely, it may have saved your life."

"Do not try to preach your methods, Vahlok. I tire of it."

"So be it." Vahlok conceded.

They walked in a stifling silence.

Maybe Tovitaa had been right, it was going to take a lot more than words to change their perspectives. Miraak couldn't foresee what was going to happen. He supposed Paarthurnax would try to kill him. He'd fight back. He'd kill the dragon, and perhaps his words were true. Perhaps Paarthurnax's soul, which was older and far more powerful than Sosvulzein's, would grant him enough power to rise above Alduin. He didn't feel confident in that idea, but it was a light ray of hope.

Besides, maybe Paarthurnax's corpse would change the others' minds more thoroughly than Sosvulzein's had.

 _No,_ he decided. _I am done with them all._

He couldn't forget their hateful gazes though. They begrudged him now more than ever. He doubted they would ever believe him, because they had never truly respected him. Even if he killed Paarthurnax, they would only seek revenge.

He shuddered at the memory of Hevnoraak.

In that moment, he vowed to never be taken alive.

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 **Dovahzul translations -**

 _Thu'um - dragon shout_  
 _Su'um - breath_  
 _Suleyk - power_  
 _Dov - dragonkind_  
 _Hi los balnu - You are worthless_  
 _Sahlag joor muz! Hin faas mebein ko su med volzah ahraan. ken do hin sil nau dii vun, ahrk Zu'u vis nunon siiv gein brah fah hi. Dinok. Fah nu, hin sahlom skem zey! - You are worthless. Pathetic mortal men! Your fear festers in the air like a bad wound. The taste of your souls is on my tongue, and I can only find one use for you. Death. For now, your weakness amuses me.  
Hin slen los ni visnaak, joor muz. Zu'u fen bo fah hin sil! - Your flesh is not edible, mortal men. I will fly for your soul!  
Dii viilut, Zu'u oblaan faal Naar dahsul. - My right, I end the Summit today.  
Zu'u lost qethserod. - I have spoken.  
Vax - Traitor  
Morokei - Glorious  
Konahrik - Warlord  
Rahgot - Anger  
Azhidal - Bitter Destroyer  
Zin - Honor  
Zahkriisos - Bloodblade  
Hevnoraak - Brutality  
Volsung - Horrible  
Krosis - Sorrow_


	10. For the Future

**A/N - I just want you to know that some of the translations from dragon language to English aren't exact as in the translator. I take a few liberties at times, and I don't always point them out. For example, I'll take a word that's only in present tense, and make it past tense for the sake of readability. The meaning is what's important to me, as dragons don't speak the same way mortals do(in my opinion), so I translate them to sound 'right'. Hope this author's note made sense. XD Enjoy the new chapter!**

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X. For the Future

(Fah faal Aluntiid)

Miraak and Vahlok exited the temple, entering the darkened night. Being this late, it was strangely silent, save for a carrying roar from the black sky. They turned their faces upwards toward the sound. There were no moon or stars out to illuminate the dragon, but they both knew he was there. The noise of wingbeats were indicator enough. The dragonborn knew that Paarthurnax had returned from his angry flight.

 _It may be dark, but that will not stop me from putting up a fight,_ he thought.

"Well, Miraak," Vahlok said in a light tone. "Perhaps this will be your last night upon this world, after all."

"Or his," returned the traitor.

The dragon descended from the darkened sky, finally visible by the light of the torches upon the temple. His wings sounded like snapping sails as they sent gusts of wind downward. Upon seeing him in the air, Miraak felt the uncontrollable surge of fiery anger in his body. He felt the dragon within him rising once more in response to the presence of the dovah, ready to fight. The blood of the dragon made him desire to carve death into this overlord's scales. He wanted to see the other reduced to a skeleton, just as he'd done so to Sosvulzein.

Paarthurnax landed upon a large, curved arch before the entrance. The ground vibrated in the typical fashion from the dovah's force and weight. The fire in the braziers cast his scales in harsh orange light, shadowing his face in the night. However, it was easy to see his cunning, blue gaze locked upon them. The two mortals caught in the dragon's vision tensed expectantly, one in anger, the other in servitude.

"Foul magicka cast down Sosvulzein," Paarthurnax spoke slowly. "Tell me, Vax, was that truly you? Did you truly kill a dovah?" There was no apparent anger in his words, seemingly only curiosity.

"I did," Miraak responded in a bold voice. "But my victory was not through some foul, Oblivion magick… I am dragonborn! I can slay any dragon as naturally as one of your kind."

"Dovahkiin, eh? An ambitious and arrogant title..." Paarthurnax shifted his head slightly to look at Vahlok. "I see...this...joor, learns the thu'um on his own, and assumes that makes him a dovah. Or like a dovah." He looked back at Miraak. "But he is not."

"I absorbed the power, and..." Miraak hissed, frustrated. "Surely you feel it! You claimed to earlier!"

"I felt your suleyk," agreed Paarthurnax. "And it was...tainted, kroved ahrk zurun...dovah, nuz ni. It is perhaps, the touch of Daedra, laniza dovah...to imitate my brethren." He was struggling to decide what Miraak truly was. "However, your blood does not make you a dovah...nor your sil...soul. If what you say is true, and you do not have a deyra-haalvut - touch - upon you, then you are one in a million. A mere chance. This makes you vonizraad...insignificant."

"Then let me show you," Miraak said darkly. The dragon burned within, longing to kill. "Attack me, and I will demonstrate my power. You will find out that I am _not_ insignificant!"

The dragon's voice was full of amusement when he responded. "You certainly have the temper of a dovah. However, nid dovah fen faas hi. Dragons fear no mortal. They only fear Alduin-Thuri, and rightly so. He reigns through the number of his followers. You are _one_ , joor. You are alone, cast out, avoided, hated." He chuckled. "Naalein, hi los vonizraad. You are impotent, a fledgling in your power."

"I think you will find that entire statement incorrect," Miraak responded coldly. "I am more than powerful enough to face you and your kind."

Paarthurnax rumbled, "This has...skem zey… Yes, it was amusing... Ahrii, zu'u kent oblaan daar. Zu'u fen kuz dii lif." Surprisingly, the dragon intended to leave.

Vahlok said in a gently-reminding tone, "Earlier, you laid claim to this man..."

"I've changed my mind," Paarthurnax said. "I see no concern here. I suspect the priests shall see to this...joor's deserved punishment." He was in a very improved mood. "I admit to putting undeserved importance to the situation in my anger. He remains beneath my notice, even should his blood be dovah through some unnatural or unseen method."

In fact...the dragon sounded nearly cheerful. Miraak was in disbelief. He felt it was off, that this dragon had gone from wanting to kill him personally, to barely noticing him. Was the beast afraid of him and hiding its fear? Or was it speaking the truth, that it thought him truly insignificant, and that the priests should see his judgment? Miraak had misgivings; inwardly, he knew it was latter reason. He was nothing to this being who did not understand him as a true threat.

Vahlok relaxed considerably at the dragon's words. Miraak realized this was the first time he'd seen the man lose his tension since he'd interrupted the priests' meeting.

The high dragon priest said, "Yes, Thuri. I shall oversee his punishment personally."

"You are ready to fly away again!?" Miraak growled at the dragon. He turned on Vahlok. "You cannot seriously believe you will punish me like I am a child!"

"I do," hissed the other.

With a sweeping wind, the dragon's wings lifted him to the skies. Miraak saw his last chance of proving himself fly away - literally.

"You are unworthy of Thuri Paarthurnax's wrath. He even denounces your power."

Miraak watched the dragon's ascent. "I would have killed him, if he'd attacked. I am stronger! Perhaps you all would have believed the truth then..."

Vahlok turned violently, angry. "Listen to yourself, you imbecile! Can you not see what you are doing? Every word you speak marks you further in the grave!" He punched a fist into his open palm on the last syllable.

"I see well enough," Miraak replied, unperturbed. "I am simply allowing the truth to guide my actions."

"The truth? The truth is that you may be strong, but you are nothing compared to the dovah!"

"Really? Do you not remember that I killed one?"

"Through unnatural means!"

The two glared at each other, seething. Miraak could see this was going nowhere.

He sighed, "I see nothing to gain here. You are all blinded by centuries of our ancestors' undying servitude. It is inevitable, I suppose... What happens now?"

Vahlok forced himself to calm down a little, "Paarthurnax Thuri leaves it to us...me to decide your fate… To me..." He paused, seeming to struggle over a decision. "So be it, Miraak…"

The dragonborn thought, _Here comes the sentence. Execution no doubt. Let him try. I'll drag his corpse through Bromjunaar Gaard for all to see. This council is far more foolish than I recalled. I am ready to stand alone this time._

 _May they see, one day, what they've failed to here and now_.

Vahlok gave his verdict. "I exile you to the north."

"Exile?!" Miraak could only feel disbelief.

 _Why would he give such a weak sentence to a traitor?_

 _It is because this weakling fool is a man of peace,_ he thought contemptuously.

However, this was just Vahlok's decision. Known, the other priests would never agree to this. They would want death and pain. In his mind, Miraak could just imagine their reactions. They would yell in anger and burn with energy. Vahlok would face their wrath. Surely it'd be Hevnoraak dragging Vahlok's bloody body through the streets soon enough instead of him.

 _What is he thinking?_

Vahlok continued, "May you contemplate what has happened and perhaps find some wisdom in isolation."

"You fear me!"

"Delude yourself, if you must, Miraak. The truth is always far more complicated... Return to your temple, traitor. Keep your head low. You walk more peril than you know. I swear, if I so much as hear of a single foul deed from you in the future, I'll see to it that your remains are scattered throughout Keizaal!"

"You would fail."

Vahlok ignored that statement. "Give me your mask. You are no longer welcome here."

"You are certainly welcome to try and take it, Vahlok. However, do not concern yourself, I have no intention of returning to this worthless place!"

Vahlok stared at him, shaking his head. "I am not fighting you on the sacred ground of Bromjunaar Gaard, Vax. Leave then, and know that you are Nid-Gein - beneath our notice, as Lord Paarthurnax said!" The man turned to leave.

"Not for long," Miraak growled. When Vahlok disappeared inside the temple, the traitor whispered, "One day soon, I'll be the only thing this worthless order notices."

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It was deep into the nighttime - swiftly approaching morning - when Miraak paced through Bromjunaar Gaard, intent on leaving it for good. One of the moons shone down, occasionally blocked by the clearing clouds. The other was cloaked in darkness, barely visible. It gave him plenty of light to see by, however.

He was grateful for the emptiness of the streets. He did not feel much like facing the crowds at large. He was done with all of these blind dragon-worshippers. Even though he had once been one. He wondered, if another had turned out to have his power, would he act this way? If it were not him rising above the dragons, would he have stayed down like a good priest?

 _I… No other would have such power… But even so...it is hard to say how I would have reacted to such. Surely seeing a dragon like Sosvulzein fall would have changed my perspective…_

 _But if I did not have the dragon soul, I would never have wanted to fight… I would not be me._ _Dovahkiin... It is who I am. It is what fate decreed. I refuse to be burdened with questions of destinies that never happened and never will._

He made his way for the stables, his stride unhurried. What was the point of making haste, anyways? He had nothing but a mostly-empty temple to return to. Here, he had not gained any followers. He had not made any progress. In short, he'd achieved nothing good nor necessary by attending this Summit.

He'd never admit it, but it humiliated him that Vahlok had just ordered him away, as if he were a troublesome child. He had not ordained to fight him, and despite Miraak's claim, he knew it had nothing to do with fear. Vahlok was too prideful to fear him.

 _Practical Vahlok, doesn't want the streets of Gaard bloody. How pathetic. Not another member of the council would have had a qualm with it._

Any of the others on the council would have ordered his execution.

Why did Vahlok believe him so weak?

Miraak decided he was going to take this opportunity to prove to Vahlok, that he was more powerful than the man was willing to credit him. He needed more power, and it was obvious to him where he'd get it.

 _I will work my way up, killing powerful dragons until my own power is greater than all others… I would not need these people. I will never need the Council. They are pathetic. Instead of uniting them against the dragons, I will stand against them all._

"Brother!" A voice called, interrupting his thoughts.

He stopped with a sigh. He turned, feeling his shoulders slump a little in further defeat. What did she want now? he wondered when he saw his sister. Tovitaa hurried towards him, and as usual, her masked face was unreadable.

"I...I wanted to apologize," she said when she reached him.

That was unexpected.

"For what?" Miraak asked.

She reached him. "For backing away from you earlier. I should have stayed by your side, but I was confused and unprepared. It is slowly becoming clear to me how truly horrible this situation is."

Miraak folded his arms, "do not apologize. It must have seemed like I was serving a daedra. These men feed on lies. They must be easier to live on than truth."

She nodded. "But...is there any truth to their lies?" She asked hesitantly. "I mean, you said I wouldn't understand...and it was after I thought you'd taken the wicked powers of a daedra."

He unfolded his arms and pulled the ring from his pocket. He held it up for her to see. "This is how I learned of my powers," he said. "Do not take this the wrong way, Sister, but this an artifact of Hermaeus Mora."

She shuddered a little at the name, "foul demons." she hissed.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. We only have the dragon's word for such, and we've seen how dishonest they are... I spoke with the daedra responsible for this ring."

"Then how do you know it has not corrupted you?" she asked, her voice cautious.

Miraak hadn't really thought of it like that. "I...do not feel like it has. I do not feel very different…or corrupted… I only feel wiser to my powers...and the dragons"

"What did this...creature say?"

"Not a lot actually. He was focused mostly on himself and his omnipotence."

"It sounds like a demon."

"It also sounds like a dragon."

"I can't deny that...well then, continue."

"It was strange. Before I even spoke with it, I attacked it...with a shout."

"So?"

"Sosvulzein never bothered to teach me the thu'um," Miraak responded, his voice terse.

"Oh..." Realization lit up in her eyes.

"I was in Apocrypha, his plane of Oblivion, the realm of knowledge! Don't you see, Tovitaa? I learned to shout simply by entering the realm of secrets. My own powers were hidden from me, until he showed them to me."

"It… That would make sense." She conceded. "But what did it say?"

"He told me I could kill the dragons, in so many words. But it wasn't just him speaking it. It was...knowing it as well. I realized it was true. When I returned to the temple, I challenged and killed Sosvulzein. I have not spoken with this daedra since..."

"Do you plan to speak to it again?"

"I...do," Miraak admitted.

"Why take that risk?"

"I'm already risking everything. Tovitaa, my entire life has been risks, and I've always found myself rewarded more often than not."

"But this is an evil demon, Miraak! You can't fight that conventionally...haven't you heard the stories of Herma-Mora!?"

"Yes, I have," her brother said. "Child's fables to scare us from truth, like usual."

"Let us say you are right," she replied. "Say you do come out of this unscathed. Then what?"

"Then, the entire world changes. Our world. Instead of dragons, we follow those of true power, wisdom and knowledge. Gone will be the pathetic, petty rituals and sacrifices. Fate decrees all, and the dragons will not hold their thrones forever...so to speak."

"I would like to think we are not doomed," admitted Tovitaa. "The destroyer will kill us all. Maybe we need to change our perspectives. Just, be careful around that creature, that daedra, Brother. I would guess it only cares for itself...and its secrets."

Miraak chuckled, "Yes. I agree. However, if I change the fate of the world, surely that'd only mean more secrets for him?"

"I do not know." Tovitaa's brow furrowed.

"I should leave before Vahlok comes to his senses and decides to try and kill me, " Miraak said. "Not that I don't want him to try, but I would prefer a good night's sleep first."

Tovitaa snorted. "What did the Council say, anyway?"

"Well, to sum it up - they declared me traitor, then tried to kill me, but Konahrik stopped them because he believed Paarthurnax wanted to dispose of me personally. Then, Vahlok exiled me after Paarthurnax decided I wasn't worth his time."

"Wow," Tovitaa said. She laughed, "You do seem to have a fair amount of luck on your side."

"I'd prefer to think it is more than luck… Still, if I'd slain Paarthurnax before the council..."

"Even if you had succeeded there, they would have been even angrier. Everyone thinks you are simply a Daedra's tool."

"Then, I'll have to change that, won't I?"

"Miraak!" called a voice.

The dragonborn turned, suddenly on edge. He hadn't really expected to be accosted by anyone else. He was unpleasantly surprised. He saw three of the Dragon Council members approaching him, which instantly alarmed him. He tensed, remembering how they had wanted his death in the meeting room. They must have realized they could still have their chance.

The shadowy moonlight glimmered down on them, and Miraak felt his dragon readying itself. It reared its head, waiting. He prepared his magicka, feeling the fire burning inside of himself as well as on his hand.

The three priests paused a few steps away. However, their stances were non-threatening. When the first spoke again, his voice was not hostile, but rather amiable.

"Miraak," repeated the man. "I just thought I'd catch you before you left. I had a feeling you wouldn't run off so fast. You're too proud to just run away. You'd leave in your own time."

"You should have seen _Hevnoraak_ when Vahlok returned without news of your death," laughed another, his voice biting the word Hevnoraak as if he were saying the name of a nasty disease. "The monster of a man was absolutely beside himself with rage when he heard of your fate… I've never seen him so angry... I would avoid him at all cost, if I were you."

The third spoke quietly, her voice strong and commanding, "Hevnoraak sees little beyond his cycle of pain and death."

Miraak, whose magicka had faded, peered at them, finally recognizing them. The first who'd spoken was Ahzidal, the second Zahkriisos, and the third Zin.

Miraak greeted them in turn. Then, he said, "I suspect you are not as angry as the others on the council, considering that you have yet to attack."

"No," Ahzidal said. "I mean, I don't think Otar gets mad at anything, which actually seems slightly freaky when he attacks someone, laughing and giggling...but he seemed quite delighted with the discontentment and all. I mean, I don't think that-"

"The point is," Zin interrupted. "We really just wanted to clarify a few things. Nobody else concerned themselves much with it, but it'd be pointless to throw away the true meaning behind what has happened without first understanding whether or not it is important."

"You have great power," Zahkriisos said, his tone heavy. " _Unusual power_. Even Thuri Paarthurnax knew it. The others claimed it was daedric influence...is that true?"

Miraak sighed irritatedly. "I do not know how much I have repeated myself on this matter, but no, Hermaeus Mora showed me my power. He did not grant it."

"But you have indeed communed with a Daedra in an unholy ceremony," Zin said. "Dishonorable."

"I'd call it initiative," Ahzidal interrupted what Miraak was about to say. "It was a bold move indeed." His eyes gleamed under his mask. "With all the secrets of Herma-Mora, a man could indeed find perfection."

"It is a dark path," Zin said disgustedly. Her words were full of knowing as she asked her next question. "It is true, Miraak? The dragons fall to you, and you steal their essence - their soul?"

"It is true."

Tovitaa, who'd remained silent, spoke. "This was Thuri Sosvulzein's fang, Lord Zin..." she brought out the dragon's tooth from her robes. It seemed to glow white in the moon, save for the tip, covered in dried blood.

"Indeed?... Allow me to apologize," Zin said. "I did not see you there."

"It's alright, I'm good at making myself less noticeable."

"Fascinating," Ahzidal said. "Absolutely fascinating."

"Of course," Zin added, "there is no proof that it is Thuri Sosvulzein's, but I do not actually doubt it. It has become clear that he died...by your hand, Miraak. Then again, there is no proof that the power you have did not come from a Daedra. There is evidence for little, and so we must take the word of our overlord...and yours. If yours is true, then our overlord may be lying...or the other way around."

Zahkriisos adjusted his mask. " _Where_ it comes from is not important. Think of what one could do with _such power_."

Miraak scowled behind his mask. "I cannot force you to believe, I know, but it is truth. If you have any sense, you'll realize the dragons are and always will be, lies."

"I know it's not much," Tovitaa said. "But I believe Miraak."

"Well, so do I," Ahzidal said. "Why can't he be more powerful than the dragon he served? I bet I am more powerful than Vriiqonel. I bet I could defeat him." He referred to the dragon he directly served, Miraak realized.

Zin said, "You could not rip away his soul and usurp its powers the way the rumors claim Miraak can." She looked at him, eyes unreadable through her silver mask.

"True, but...oh well, it'd still be making a point though, you know? I mean, no one disputes dragons can die. People just don't believe mortals can kill them...or permanently, at least."

Miraak nodded, "that is indeed my point." He could almost sense their minds changing. Perhaps they were not all so big of fools as he'd originally thought. Perhaps there was still victory to be had.

What he could do with such potential allies!

"Ahzidal," Zin said. "We should return before the morning rituals. The others will fester wounds of suspicion should we delay."

"Alright," Ahzidal said. "Let us take our leave. Thanks, Miraak, for this insight."

Miraak was a little disappointed when they walked away. A part of him had been hoping that they would have joined his side. It mattered little though. At least it meant some were beginning to doubt the dragons. That in itself was a victory he would gladly take, even if it was a small one.

"I must go, Sister," Miraak finally said to Tovitaa. "I've the feeling you'll hear more from me in the future."

"I do too," she said. She smiled, even though she knew he could not see it. "Farewell, Brother. Try not to get yourself killed before we speak again.."

"I will not fall," he declared. "Farewell, Sister."

She watched him walk away, entering the stables. She wished that there was a better path for Miraak in this situation to take… However, even she recognized that this was a large mess he'd gotten himself into. She worried though, for the blood she knew would eventually fall. For the pain that would come. For the chaos it would bring. And also for the lives that would end in the wake of this turn of events. She worried for the future.

 _Good luck, Brother,_ she thought, turning away and listening to the sound of hoof beats upon the stone.

 _You're going to need it._

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 **Dovahzul Translations -**

 _kroved ahrk zurun...dovah, nuz ni. - Corrupt and odd...dragon, but not._  
 _laniza dovah - to imitate a dragon_  
 _Sil - Soul_  
 _deyra-haalvut. - Daedra-touch._  
 _Vonizraad - insignificant._  
 _nid dovah fen faas hi - no dragon will fear you_  
 _Naalein, hi los vonizraad - Alone, you are insignificant._  
 _Skem zey - Amused me._  
 _Ahrii, zu'u kent oblaan daar. Zu'u fen kuz dii lif. - Alas, I must end this. I will take my leave._  
 _Joor - Mortal_  
 _Nid-Gein. - No-One._  
 _(Dragon Name: Vriiqonel) Vrii-Qo-Nel - Scale-Lightning-Fast_


	11. Shadows and Dark Promises

**A/N - I just want to thank everyone who is reading and/or reviewing! I'm super happy that you are enjoying the story!**

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XI. Shadows and Dark Promises

(Vokunne ahrk Vul Kaatte)

Miraak stirred from sleep, blinking slightly. The world was silent, its emptiness pressing upon his eardrums. The only light granted to him came from the colors illuminating the night sky, green and blue auras sliding amongst the stars. The air was chilled and the atmosphere still except for the distant howling of a wolf. All was serene, peaceful - almost too peaceful.

Miraak began to feel uneasy, the sense that something was amiss lingering in his mind. He rolled to his side, observing his small camp from underneath the overhang he rested in. He pushed a root jutting from the wall aside, wincing at the frozen rattle it caused. Unfortunately, the noise couldn't be helped. Ignoring the obvious sound he'd created, his eyes sought out any irregularities.

He found one.

His horse was absent, its tether no longer holding the animal to the small camp. The rope, attached to a tree, lay uselessly in the snow, obviously broken. Miraak tried to make sense of it, disbelieving his horse had broken its lead and vanished into the woods without so much as waking him, especially in the empty silence of that bitter night.

 _Such a sound would have been thunderous..._

A sense of danger filled him, and he felt alarm. Readying himself, he released the noisy root that he'd pushed away. It was just as well the root would make such a racket; subtlety had never been his style. Seizing his mask, he pushed it to his face, feeling the enchantments enhance his magicka. Grabbing his staff, he shoved through the roots of the overhang, on his feet in moments.

There was a noise, a faint unmistakable brush upon wood. He froze, turning his head, listening and waiting. He heard no more, but he knew that something was there. He felt certain that it lingered nearby just out of his vision, but no matter where he scrutinized with his searching eyes, he found nothing. He approached the broken tether, tightening his grip upon the staff. When he reached it, he gave it his full attention.

The end was not the frayed edge of a ripped lead, as he had expected. Instead, it was the clean cut from the work of a dagger. He could see a set of footprints next to the hoofprints, leading away. He realized what had happened in an instant. A thief, maybe a bandit, had surely stolen his mount. This thief must have used cloth to soften the hooves' movements, if the prints were anything to go by.

 _Still, I did not waken! Ridiculous!_

He was not looking forward to trekking back to his temple on foot. He still had a three-day ride before he reached his sanctum. Now, it looked to be a week of walking. He was enraged to imagine some peasant upon his mount riding through the land, smugly amused with their success no doubt. Worse still, to picture that a dragon priest might have taken the horse instead.

 _Whoever did this, they were a coward…_ Miraak thought as he straightened, rolling his shoulders to work the lingering chill out of them.

There was a faint sound like the one from before. Annoyance bubbled up inside of Miraak. What animal was messing about his camp? Why hadn't it left when he'd stirred? He stalked in the direction the noise had came from, impatient. It was probably a night bird or a rodent foraging in the woods, but he wasn't willing to leave it to chance. A glint caught his eye then, but he didn't know exactly where originated from. He looked up into the trees before dropping his searching eyes lower. Moving in to examine the undergrowth, he could pinpoint nothing.

A distant whinny reached his ears, ringing from deep in the woods. He snapped towards that direction and tensed. His horse was frightened, its vocals a desperate scream. Following the whinny through the night was a low snarl rising to a rich yowl, further, but definitely near the horse.

Miraak did not hesitate when he started for the sounds. His horse was close, if he hurried, he could save it from whatever animal was upon it. Fire would frighten away most land predators, and if not, it could kill them. It sounded like-

A heavy weight dropped upon his shoulders.

A flash of surprise raced through him, and he instinctively twisted in an attempt to escape. A fiery discomfort drove into his shoulder, and he snarled. His staff hit the snow. Pained, he struggled against something he was trying to comprehend, grabbing uselessly behind him. He could catch nothing.

"Die, Vax!" Hissed a vicious voice.

He understood an assailant was upon him somehow. What kind of coward struck from behind like a hiding serpent?

He felt pressure upon his throat, cutting off his air and filling his neck with an angry ache. His hands flew swiftly, grappling at a thick cord there. He jerked sideways, slamming his attacker into a tree. Both crashed into it awkwardly. Miraak trapped the attacker's arm against the icy bark, hearing a gasp of pained air.

Somewhere in the distance, a howling screech tore into the air.

 _My steed!_ Miraak felt instant annoyance with his foe holding him back.

He couldn't inhale. The pain was increasing. His attacker writhed, trying to free his arm. Even if he had the assailant pinned, he was still being strangled. The pain in his shoulder was increasing. He knew that he'd probably been stabbed, and the position was only driving the blade in further.

With a grunt, he thrusted his shoulders forward, driving his elbow back into a set of ribs. For an instant, the pressure increased dizzyingly. Then, it let up. The weight fell, and a thud upon the snow reached his ears. Miraak stumbled, gasping air, wrenching around to face his foe. He saw the attacker rush forward. A small blade sank into his stomach, and his back hit another tree. Fierce pain filled him. He inhaled sharply, feeling his own warm blood upon his robes. The enemy lingered, seeming to become abruptly confident in his victory.

Unfortunately, the dragonborn had no idea how to battle with this kind of enemy - a man who fought like a shadow, constantly slipping just beyond his own reach. He wasn't even sure it was a man. His enemy was covered from head to toe in black, and seemed to waver indistinctly in his vision, hard to see in the dimness of the night.

"For Lord Hevnoraak!" Hissed the voice. "I am a shadow in his name, striking from the emptiness." The blade twisted and Miraak hissed.

Finally, he saw the whites of his enemy's eyes, glaring wrathfully at him. It was the surest sight he had seen since awakening to the dim camp. Miraak wasn't sure what came over him. His hands raised, pulling on his magicka in desperation. He wrapped his flaming fingers around his enemy's neck.

The man struggled, his faceless mask hiding his expression. It didn't take long before flames were everywhere, blazing into his opponent devastatingly. The writhing shadow screamed, trying to free itself, but it was burning away.

"Shadows do not burn!" Miraak growled. "You are not a shadow...but a cowardly fighter!"

Miraak gritted his teeth, tightening his grip to the utmost. He felt it collapse and break under his hands, the flames consuming his opponent. The scent of burning flesh hit his nose. The charred corpse smashed into the snow, still burning, its screams seeming to still echo into the dark night.

Miraak straightened his stance, wincing in pain. He reached behind him and grabbed the dagger within his shoulder. He bit his lip, giving a savage yank. The blade pulled free. He flung it to the ground, pain lancing down his arm. His shoulder gave an unwelcome twinge. He stooped and seized his staff, readying himself. He moved forward, ignoring his discomfort. He could still hear the yowling.

He heard hoofbeats then, wild and panicked. They sounded closer, louder, and ringing in his ears. Miraak eyes widened when the dark animal crashed from the brush ahead. The stallion stumbled, but caught itself, turning. Its eyes were wide, glinting fearfully, head tossing.

"Here, steed!" Miraak shouted, waving his hand.

The horse spun towards him, prancing agitatedly. It cantered past him, shaking its mane. He could see a gash across its flank, bleeding openly. Fortunately, it had escaped death. Miraak was thankful for that.

Not far behind the horse, a snarling beast prowled from the bushes, powerful muscles rippling beneath its fur. The huge cat stalked from the darkness, the aura of the sky casting it in viridescent light, illuminating its golden-brown fur. Two, huge, dagger-like teeth jutted from its upper jaw, and its yellow eyes locked on the dragonborn, full of predatory hunger.

"Here, steed," Miraak repeated in a calmer tone.

He heard his horse slow behind him, but it was still scared, unwilling to move back in the direction of danger. He would have to remedy that.

Miraak raised his staff, focusing his power.

The cat paused, tensing and growling.

Miraak unleashed a jet of flame towards it. The response was a screech of pain. The bright orange sent the sabre cat racing for the woods, disappearing back amidst the trees. Miraak waited, making certain it would not reappear.

It did not.

He turned to the uneasy stallion, eyeing the bloody wound upon its side.

Miraak exhaled, "It appears that once again, I must use healing magicka..."

He disliked using healing magicka. Wounds could mend alone, and wasting energy on them seemed pointless. Still, just like before, he had little choice. If he wished to reach the temple sooner rather than later, he would have to heal both himself and his horse. With impatience, he set to his task.

Still, it wasn't lost on him just who had tried to kill him. If the man's words were anything, he'd been an agent of Hevnoraak's.

It seemed the lord of brutality heavily disagreed with Vahlok's decision of exile for Miraak.

 _They are all enemies now. I will have to be more weary._

* * *

It'd been three days, and Miraak was never so relieved to see his temple when he arrived. He guided his horse up the familiar path, sensing equal eagerness in his animal when it recognized the area. The steed trotted without hesitation, making for the stables.

 _I am pathetically grateful to see this place..._ Miraak admitted to himself silently.

He pulled back the reigns when he reached the bottom of the main steps, dismounting. He tried to hide the stiffness in his limbs, which was nearly impossible. He couldn't stop the grunt of discomfort when his feet hit the ground. He nearly stumbled, but managed to stop his unsavory momentum by leaning against the saddle for a moment.

He heard footsteps from behind and turned. The stable hand approaching averted his gaze quickly, looking upon the snow. The dragonborn did not recognize him - someone new to replace the old hand, apparently. Miraak seized the front of the unfortunate other's robes as he moved by.

"Why are you amused?" He snapped, forcing him to meet his angry gaze.

"I am not amused, Lord Miraak, sir! Why would I be?" The man exclaimed, looking upon him fearfully.

 _It is possible I imagined the amusement upon his face just now…_

Miraak released him, scowling behind his mask.

With the clinking of the harness, the man hurriedly led his horse away, never looking back.

The dragonborn soon traipsed through the grand doors, his relief increasing with each step further into his temple. The corridor lead him into the former chant room. He saw a single man here, a book raised to his face. He lowered it and looked up. Instantly, he was on his feet, the book thudding on the floor uselessly.

"Lord Miraak!" He said, delighted. "You return to us!"

"Of course I do."

"Well," the man said nervously. "I have to admit, some of us have been uneasy since you left."

"Meaning you thought the fools in Bromjunaar Gaard would kill me." Miraak accused, his eyes narrowing. He felt angry. His inner dragon snorted, agreeing with him.

Before the other could respond, he spun on his heel and continued deeper into the temple.

It was not hard to understand why his followers had thought he might not return. If not for Vahlok, many would certainly have tried to make sure he met his death. Truth be told, he was not angry with his people for believing the Council would try to kill him. He was angry at the fact that they thought those fools _could_ kill him.

 _I will not die so easily..._

Miraak still remembered the strange fighter that'd attacked from behind, and even that man had failed to kill him. There'd been two of those 'shadows', actually. Another attack had occurred the night after the first. However, he had been far more prepared for it and had vanquished his foe much more easily. Overall, the occurrence had left him disgusted with Hevnoraak's cowardly men, and with the brutal priest himself for sending such worthless agents after him.

The dragonborn made a mental note of eventually returning the favor to the cruel priest. For now, he had work to do.

"Lord Miraak, welcome back," another man said when he entered the throne room. "Laana sends word. She says that more than twenty are following her now. We should have new arrivals soon."

 _At the very least, we are making progress._

"It is better than nothing," Miraak responded. "Any word from Kreniik's group?"

"No, my lord, he will most likely take much longer."

"Hopefully, the discontentment I created at Gaard will create...some defects. Gather the others. I have news to share."

"It shall be done."

It wasn't long before the others had filed into the chamber. It put a damper on Miraak's spirit, seeing that there were only a dozen or so. He still wasn't quite used to the emptiness of his temple, but he hoped to change that.

"My loyal followers," he started, showing none of his misgivings. "The Council is content to live in their lies! Nothing I said would change their corrupted minds… Obviously, we must strengthen ourselves. To protect our sanctum, we will guard it. We shall continue building and working. When our numbers soar, when the dragons fall, all shall see it us for our glory! We are the new order!"

The others nodded agreement.

"Soon," Miraak continued. "I shall start my hunt. I will begin killing dragons in the area, taking their souls. With each new soul, I will grow in both power and name. The false gods will learn fear... At that time, Nahlot will oversee in my absence."

Nahlot tilted his head respectfully in response.

"That is all. I have some research to do before I begin my hunt. Dismissed!"

"Nahlot," he said, turning to the man in question as the others left. "Keep an eye out when I am away. There were many dissatisfied Council members in Gaard. I do not wish to lose _anyone_ to hostile dragon priests. Keep patrols to a minimum of three members at a time. I will not tolerate returning to a dead and empty temple!"

"Indeed, we will lose no one, my lord."

"Good. I am going to rest." Miraak turned away, leaving the room.

Yes, he needed rest, but he had a more pressing objective on his mind. He was intent on what he planned to do. He fixated on it, thinking of little else. The need to perform this action was great. Now that he was home, he felt his eagerness increasing. The walk to his chambers felt incredibly long. When he reached it, he entered a set of doors to his elaborate room of carved walls and ornate decorations. He closed the doors behind him swiftly. He activated the lock.

He checked his runes and wards around the door, pleased to find them undisturbed. Marching to the far wall just beyond the bed, he dropped to the floor. He knelt by a fancy woven rug with a dragon on it. A rune marked the rug, invisible without close inspection. He pushed the cloth aside, pulling back the dark, hidden doors beneath.

This secretive space had once been a place of safe-keeping for the very paranoid Liikriid when he'd been high priest of this temple. He had believed his followers were constantly plotting against him and had taken to hiding most of his possessions whenever he slept.

It made the dragonborn chuckle at such a memory. He stared at the dark cover of the black book that now occupied this space. He was surprised at how pleased he was to simply _see_ it. The flash of excitement he felt was not lost on him either. He quickly grabbed the tome, pulling it from the safe nook. He took it in hand, leaning against the wall.

He hesitated only to gather his thoughts.

When he was prepared, he opened the cover.

There was a moment of darkness, and Miraak stood up, blinking away the dark remnants of the reading. Looking around, he found himself once again standing in Apocrypha which he had not visited for many days now, but it felt as if he'd stood here not long ago. Slowly, he took in his surroundings again, letting his gaze be drawn to the flying books in the pale green sky. It was different than what he had remembered. Had the realm changed, or had he just arrived at a different part this time?

All was silent except for the distant fluttering sound of thousands of pages like rain flooding the sky. He inhaled, but there was no smell other than that of the mask. It seemed Apocrypha was empty of all odors and most sounds. It was made for secrets, not to bombard the senses of mortals. He found the sound of the fluttering pages somewhat relaxing.

Miraak found himself thinking of his last visit. How the reading had showed him so much! It had lead to power and his release from the dragons' service. It should have lead to many others feeling the same, but the black book had scared many away.

"They are all fools," He announced into the emptiness of the realm. "They cannot see the truth. I did all I could to show them, but it was not enough. Sosvulzein's death did not persuade them, nor did hearing the truth from their overlord's very mouth. They are lost in their petty lies."

He registered the appearance of the daedra lord in the sky. The huge eye morphed into view, the smaller eyes surrounding it all locked upon him. Its dark tentacles swayed in the sky, claws curled, flexing, and the pincers clashed amidst themselves.

"Because of you," Miraak added, meeting the gaze. "They saw your mark, and fled like cowards. They believed it diminished my significance. They continue to refuse to understand such obvious truth..."

"Miraak," said Hermaeus Mora in his calm, assured voice. "You expect them to open up to another's influence so readily. Mortals that have served for so long...are not so easily swayed from such a path...unless they can see an _obvious_ benefit for themselves. Time must always reveal fate."

The dragonborn crossed his arms. "I _can_ understand that, but I cannot fathom how they can continue worshipping the dragons. What benefit is to be gained by it? They are not true gods. They can die by mortal hands..." his eyes widened with interest. "On the contrary, your power is unparalleled. If you wanted, all the dragons would surely fall!"

"And yet, they remain..."

"You are correct, but it is only a matter of time." Miraak stated in confidence. "I will bring them all down, but I need more...knowledge...and wisdom. I am not as knowledgeable in the thu'um as many of the dovah, and I prefer to have every advantage I can over my enemies. Here in your realm, I can find the skills I seek."

 _He cannot refuse me. I will change the destiny of the world!_

"Miraak…" The daedra spoke almost agonizingly slow. "...I see that you have become...quite eager to learn...in your absence from my realm… However, I _require_ something in return for the...knowledge you seek." His voice seemed to rise and fall like ocean waves.

Miraak didn't hesitate to respond, "Name your price, then. Lost knowledge to be found? Blood to be spilled in your name? Or perhaps a shrine in your honor. It matters little at this point." He could perform a deed, and it'd be done. It would be a small enough price in return for the power to change the world. Truthfully, he had expected this, more or less.

The large eye blinked slowly, shifting ever so slightly in the green light. "You are...quick...to assume."

The man stood there, trying to stifle his impatience.

The Daedra Prince continued, "however...since you seem very eager..."

"Speak it, then!"

"Miraak, I can make you the most powerful man in all of Tamriel. This however, is a very powerful gift. You cannot expect such power without...compensation. In return, all I ask, is that you pledge yourself to my service...as my champion..."

Miraak let that sink in.

"I would...serve you? This sounds familiar."

"Yes, really, it is a small price when compared to what you ask for."

"What would such...service require of me?"

"I would ask a favor every now and then... And I would also demand that you never go against my wishes or turn your back on me, Miraak. To do so would grant you...unparalleled punishment."

"How is this different than serving the dragons?" Miraak asked. "I do not wish to trade one overlord for another…"

"Overlord… a powerful word. One made by the dovah… No, Miraak, I would not be your overlord. I would be your mentor, ever guiding you to more knowledge and skill. That I expect you to return such a favor by lending me a hand every now and again… It is merely expected. I do not require worship, or sacrifices. I do not require temples or praises. I merely require loyalty…" He finished.

The dragonborn stood there, contemplating. He was trying to focus on the statement. He tried to analyze it, pick it apart for the faintest hint of treachery. Was it a trick? It was possible, from what he'd heard of these beings...and yet… What he'd heard had been stories relayed to him by those who served the dragons.

What Hermaeus Mora offered seemed fair. No power came cheaply. He needed more details.

"What favor could you need from me?" Miraak asked.

"I sometimes require a hand in Mundus to say…place a book...or entice another with knowledge. Or perhaps a death... Anything to encourage fate to a certain...path. But first, you must end your...battle with the dragons and their servants."

"You would give me all the power of the thu'um?"

"I will give you the knowledge, which you can turn to power. So...yes..."

Miraak nodded slowly. Maybe he was acting too rashly, but there was no denying the necessity of what he could be given. Now more than ever, with nearly everyone against him, he needed this edge. He needed this power. What favor would be too much to ask for all of that? What favor would be too much in return for the ability to alter the fate of the world?

He muttered, "I do not like pledging myself to anyone...there are no gods, I refuse to sing worship to another."

"I do not require worship...only favors."

There was a tense pause.

Miraak finally stated, "Fine, daedra. I need your knowledge, or you would not have me."

"Then you will serve as my champion, until your mortal death..."

"Until...my mortal death..." Miraak agreed slowly.

The deal was sealed.

"Then Apocrypha and all its secrets are open to you. My...servants will treat you without hostility. Make yourself at home...champion."

"Indeed, I will begin at once."

Miraak felt no different then before, despite the binding contract he'd just accepted. He could find no reason in his mind to regret what had just happened. Truthfully, he felt nothing but his eagerness to learn the secrets that would give him the advantage over those who opposed him. As the daedra had said, he would not even have to bother with the 'favors' part of the deal until _after_ he had ended his fight with the Dragon Order.

He broke eye contact with the master of knowledge, looking around. He did not know the immediate area, but it felt somehow familiar. It interested him, since he was new to the endless library of the wisest of daedra; nothing should have felt even remotely recognizable. He walked across the grate before reaching the edge of the area. A dizzying plummet led to the dark green waters far below. He was on some kind of tower seemingly made of thousands of books interwoven in steel. He could see very far into the distance of the dull emerald horizon.

Not least of what he noticed, was the power that seemed to rise from the ground and linger in the air. When he concentrated, he felt he could very nearly call it to him. Focusing and tracing the remnants of the power, he could sense it under his feet like simmering lava underneath a plate of rock.

He couldn't believe he had just now noticed it was there.

"What is this place? This tower… it is different than the area I visited before." Miraak said. He turned. "I feel...magicka here, resonating very powerfully. Most of your realm saps at the strength, but this..."

"This is...the Summit of Apocrypha."

"What is its significance?"

"It is the entry of knowledge. This place resides... as the most parallel to Mundus, and is most connected to it. If you ever need to get your bearings within my realm, this is the place to do so." The huge eye blinked. "Oh, and if you do explore my library, do be cautious that you do not lose yourself to the darkness of my secrets. Many have wandered in to never return."

"I shall endeavor to be careful, then." Miraak said. "How will I proceed from here?"

"I believe...that book should lead you in the right direction."

Miraak turned to see the item the Daedra mentioned. He approached the book on a pedestal.

"Alright," Miraak felt undeniable excitement. What could he learn? Would it give him a greater edge than he expected? The lure of the unknown drew on him. "Let us see what waits within."

He opened the cover.

* * *

.

* * *

 **A/N - I don't believe there's any Dovahzul to translate this time**.


	12. Born With the Power of Gods

~D~

XII. Born With the Power of Gods

(Kiin Voth fin Suleyk do Rahhe)

Tovitaa's fingers rooted into the snow, working at the earth underneath. She was intent on her task, her typically masked face unmasked and tightened in concentration. After a moment, she prized at something fiercely. With a distinct ripping, she pulled up a brown, unimpressive root. She scowled at it, brushing dirt from its surface with her gloved hand. She rummaged in her bag, pulling out a set of notes. She poured through them quickly, eyes searching for a specific match of sketched diagrams with the item in her other hand.

 _This must be ice root. It matches the drawing… I hope this alchemy is indeed a payoff..._ she thought, putting the root in the satchel slung over her shoulder. She adjusted the bow and quiver on her her back, eyes examining the parchment.

 _Hold a moment… I can cut this kind!_ She realized as she read more.

Some roots were only good if the entire root was pulled up from the with little or no damage. She was relieved by this discovery that this was not such a kind. She searched once again, pushing her hand forward in the snow, ever alert for more of the root. She shoved white powder aside quickly, a dark gnarled plant tuber sticking from the cold ground. She pulled out a dagger to cut it from the frozen ground.

How anything grew at all this far north was beyond her, especially when the ground was as hard as the stone of the dragon temples.

She unhurriedly stowed it away in the satchel, trying to remember what her mentor had said.

What was it?

 _"Finding ingredients is half the enjoyment and satisfaction of alchemy,"_ the old woman had said.

That was it...

Tovitaa shook her head, unconvinced. _I think I'll stick to enchanting from now on._

She looked up to the partially cloudy sky, the sun high now. It was nearly at its zenith. She was more than ready to be done with her task of collecting these specific ingredients, already close to reaching the end of her journey. All she had left to do was find more of these ice roots and a few collections of blade grass. Then, she would begin her return-journey by turning south.

She was farther north in the province than she normally explored. There was little reason to travel before, but certain ingredients only thrived this far from home. She had found that the air was indeed colder here. She'd not believed it possible to feel colder in this world, and now she knew differently. Still, she was glad for the survival skills her father had taught her at a young age.

Her mind wandered farther into the past.

 _When Miraak left home so long ago, there was little to do but to learn how to survive on my own. Father promised to teach me how, and after that, my destiny was my own._

She had only been a few years younger than Miraak, and she could still remember when the boy, not yet a man, had left home, his face all determination and anger. The words he'd exchanged with Vahlok that day had left her cold inside. She had not seen him again until approximately five years had passed them by. In that time, she'd become adept at surviving the wilderness and hunting with a bow. She had some skill with magicka herself, but had lacked the desire to learn its destructive side - unlike her brother. Instead, she found she enjoyed molding it into art, bringing it greater power.

That was how she'd found herself studying enchanting not long after arriving in Bromjunaar Gaard. There, she'd met up with Miraak again. He'd seemed far more impatient and belligerent than she'd remembered. He'd urged her to watch the Zin-Krifs in which he had participated in, despite her misgivings. She remembered that he was a show-off, his fire and lightning destroying his foes. She had not understood the use of such carnage, but she'd never told him such until much later. She had not the confidence then.

When she had confided her distaste for it in him, he'd only chuckled and said, "you will see when you join a temple. Blood and food are the only thing the dovah appreciate."

She had joined a temple not long after, to continue honing her enchanting. And that was where she'd stayed the last seven years under a circle of enchanters and enchantresses serving Krosis where she'd honed her technique to fine point. Afterwards, Krosis had sent most of them to Morokei, who'd needed new enchanted weapons and armor for Konahrik's army.

She still remembered the day the esteemed high dragon priest had actually noticed her a few months ago. It'd been a special day. Her recognition as a good enchantress had been incredible. She'd been content. Eventually, another priest had urged her to try alchemy. She'd asked to study under the alchemist, eager to try something new.

She'd been permitted to study, and that was what found her here so far north, tearing plants out of the ground and sometimes plucking eyes from unfortunate beasts that needed hunting.

The best thing about her journey so far had been the freedom it'd granted her. There were no overseers, no orders, and no one reprimanding her if she snuck her mask off to relax. Of course, the latter hadn't happened in years. At least, she hadn't been caught for such.

 _I wonder what Miraak is doing now? He was pretty adamant about carrying out his plans… That was...what? Four months ago... I wonder if he still breathes. I'd heard of another two dragon deaths before I left on my journey...I know it was him._

A roar rang through the air then, dragging her from her thoughts. She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw a dragon pass by not far overhead. Its wings beat veraciously, stirring wind that shook the trees around her and fluttered her robes. It was as though the dovah were in a great hurry; most dragons she saw did not fly quite so fast or so low to the ground.

 _What's going on?_

There were hoofbeats. Her face turned to a rise, full of disbelief. Almost as if her thoughts had conjured him, in pursuit of the flying beast on his galloping horse was the unmistakable elegant blue robes of her brother. The rider and horse tore over the hill, never slowing.

 _Miraak! What in Oblivion?!_

* * *

Miraak pursued the dragon whose name he'd learned not long ago - Lotyolviing.

Miraak felt the air blowing through his robes as he urged his steed to greater speed, nudging its sides. His eyes were upon the dragon, burning angrily. Sweat lined his stallion's neck, and it was panting from exertion, foam on its mouth. The horse leapt from the hill down to the flat surface under its rider's guidance, kicking up snow from the stumbling stride that quickly evened out. The dragon twisted in the air, turning and hovering to look upon them with its malicious stare.

Miraak met its gaze, feeling his own dovah blood inflamed with the desire to crush this immortal being.

"YOL!" Lotyolviing shouted, raining fire down.

Miraak raised his ward before the attack could reach them. The fire broke over the ward, useless heat in the air. His horse whinnied, slowing in surprise and fear. Miraak fought with the reins for a moment, yelling at the horse to continue.

The huge brown-gold dragon twisted and changed direction. It flapped its wings and Miraak fell behind it in hot pursuit once again. He could tell this would be one of his easier hunts. He'd been chasing the beast for what must have been a good twenty minutes now. The creature had not ordained to land in that time, throwing useless attack after useless attack at him. It would tire out after a while.

It would have to stop its game of staying aloft at some point. Theoretically, it could have escaped him, but it was far too proud to flee, just like all of its kin. And though it flew away, it'd always circle back around in the hopes that one of its attacks would prove fatal for the dragonborn. Still, he could sense the dovah's fear. It knew who he was, and his continued existence shamed the beast. Such a humiliated being would never succeed in battle. He knew he would win.

The dragon in him was disgusted, wanting the other's death for such pathetic conduct on the battlefield. The fear of the other stirred its desire to rip and tear, and Miraak was more than happy to oblige it. No proud dovah should fear him. It should meet him with the equal desire to destroy, and the one with the most destructive power would rise from the ashes of the glorious battle.

That one would be Miraak.

His agile mount bounded up the next slope, and he clutched the mane as it danced from rock to rock like a mountain goat. He was grateful for the stallion's sure footing and fine breeding, for many situations lately had demanded its qualities be put to good use.

The mount froze, nearly toppling Miraak from the saddle. He saw why.

There was a steep drop off just beyond the cliff. A slope lead below, too dangerous and too far to drop onto it. They stood on the rocky edge jutting off the mountain. Miraak realized the dragon must have lead him here on purpose.

 _Clever…so that's why it was not fleeing..._ That was all he thought before he caught sight of his quarry again.

Lotyolviing was just ahead. It swooped around from far above, making a daring strike for both horse and rider, vulnerable so close to the drop. The horse reared in fear, screaming. Miraak could not raise a ward as he gripped the reins. Fortunately, the dragon did not strike with fire again. It's claws extended to shred them. The dragonborn looked up at the sharp talons and responded instantly.

"FO KRAH DIIN!"

The wave of frost hit the target mercilessly. Lotyolviing screeched and twisted away in pain. It ducked low, hovering just beneath the rocky cliff. It roared furiously, looking up at him. He saw how its position gave it the advantage for once. Below, it would be able to duck any thu'um or spell he launched. Miraak, on the other hand, had nowhere to retreat from such attacks. His wards were weaker now, and it wouldn't be long before he had to do something differently.

The dragon opened its maw, fire blazing in it's throat. The brown maw unleashed a stream of flames. Miraak's blue ward stopped the attack once more. The conjured shield shattered, but the former priest and horse were both unharmed by the attack. The animal spun in fear from the force of the broken ward. Miraak felt his inner dragon lunging for the enemy, dragging him behind it. He sprang from the saddle, rushing forward. He leapt from the cliff, feeling its wings spread. The enemy looked at him, something akin to disbelief in its yellow eyes.

He would never reach it, it was too far away.

It almost rumbled amusement at the suicidal leap.

"WULD NAH KEST!" Miraak shouted, hurled at the other from the whirlwind sprint.

For that moment, he felt he were indeed a dragon, diving for it's enemy, wings folded back. All he could see was the beast below that he wanted to sink non-existent claws and fangs into. He wanted to rip it's scales off and tear its eyes out. He wanted blood and death.

In that instant, he understood the dovah and their bloodlust; the feeling was empowering.

He plummeted onto Lotyolviing's head. He seized its horns, grasping tightly. The dragon howled in fury and surprise. It's head dragged down, throwing it off balance, wings thrashing the air in ferocity. Miraak, holding on with one hand, plunged his blade into its slitted eye with the other.

Lotyolviing writhed in the air, screeching so loudly, it hurt Miraak's eardrums. The massive jaws snapped, but it could not capture the assailant from such a position. Miraak thrusted his blade into the eye again, and dark crimson liquid spilled from the injury. He pulled back. He stabbed the dragon again. It howled. His arms burned with exhaustion as he yanked the blade out, ready to drive in once more.

The dragon twisted into the air, plunging downward. Blood flowed over its scales. It's wings went limp, and it dropped towards the ground. The scarlet flowed freely and Miraak's fingers slipped on the smooth, slick surface.

He scrabbled for a blind minute before he too was falling. He slammed into a powdery snow-drift, rolling down the hill. The dragon thudded onto the ground nearby and screeched blindly, writhing in the snow as it rolled. Its howls pierced the air. Both man and dragon tumbled down the slope. Lotyolviing crushed trees, landing upon a pile of snowy rocks. Miraak saw it's head rear up and it turn upon itself like an agonized snake.

He hit the trunk of a tree, the breath leaving him. He gasped, blinking. He tried to regain himself, his gaze still upon the dragon. He needed to get up. He needed to keep fighting. He needed to kill Lotyolviing. There was no time for pain or fatigue, not when he was so eager to end the fight.

With a flip, the dragon was on its feet, stumbling. It screeched, shaking visibly, blood still dripping from its face. Miraak, also on his feet raced forward down the slope, holding his blade and ignoring the ache in his chest.

"No, dovahkiin!" Snarled the beast, backing away. It hissed, tail lashing miserably. "You do not know what you do." It paused its retreat, remembering itself.

"I know exactly what I do," Miraak growled, pausing when he reached level ground. "Fate decreed your death, dragon!" He raised his blade before him.

"You are Dinok-Druniik to me, Dovahkiin. Qahnaarin. Death-bringer and vanquisher." Lotyolviing rumbled. He backed away from the approaching man again, injured head wavering. "No mere mortal. Your soul is dovah. You need allies, no? I would serve you, Dovahkiin. Your thu'um is powerful, superior to mine."

"So I was correct. The false gods begin to learn fear...but you? You are nothing special," Miraak said. "Your service would mean nothing to those who still oppose me."

"A dovah is a worthy ally, even if he is not prestigious."

Miraak held his sword tightly, regaining his bearings completely. In fact, the whole world was suddenly thrown into sharp focus. The dragon, the snow-frosted trees, the color of crimson upon the white ground - all clear. He knew what he was to do, who he was, and the fight he fought.

"Indeed… In fact, you _will_ serve me," Miraak said again after a thoughtful pause. "Your soul shall imbue me with its power." He raised his blade and charged forward.

 _Weak coward._ The dragon within hissed. _I will tear his throat out! Make him suffer for his pathetic attitude! Servitude to death for him? Never!_

The dragon stared and tilted its head like a curious animal, almost as if it were uncomprehending his action. Miraak had already ducked out of range when its jaws clamped down on the air, failing to save the dovah's life.

He thrusted his sword up, his aim true. The blade landed deep between the scales in it's thick neck, raining precious blood down as he ripped it through the leathery flesh. The dragon reared back, shrieking, and the sword was yanked from Miraak's hand. He stumbled forward, watching the rearing beast over his head.

It screamed, its shadow falling across the snow. With a hiss, it collapsed sideways, breathing quickly. The snow flurried up into the air around it. Miraak crossed over to his blade. He sliced mortally deep, twisted it, and pulled the weapon free. Dark blood flowed onto the snow, its heat melting it. The dragon's jaws hung upon, tongue lolling to the ground. Miraak felt the dragon's death as it drew its last breath. Lotyolviing stilled completely, a hissing exhale leaving its throat.

He walked away, feeling exhausted. He dragged his feet through the snow until he felt the soul come to him. He focused on it, guiding it to himself. After his fourth dragon, he'd learned he could use the power of the soul to heal any wounds and drain his exhaustion.

He felt the warmth of it - the thousands of memories and sensations flowing into him. He sighed, welcoming the reprieve.

It wasn't long before he noticed the form approaching him from the distant woods. He paused, waiting, recognizing it as human. The woman drew closer, and he registered who she was - his sister, maskless and laden with a satchel and bow. Without a word, she stared at the skeleton, her face the color of the snow all around.

It barely crossed his mind that it was odd see her there.

"Really," said Tovitaa, "Brother, this is..."

"Incredible?" He asked.

He couldn't help it. After killing any dragon, why shouldn't he be feeling incredible? Especially since he always claimed the soul of the powerful beasts? He'd barely taken a hit in that fight, granted the dragon had been rather pathetic, weak and probably rather young when compared to most of its brethren.

 _It was too easy..._

Tovitaa pushed back her dark hair and scratched her head.

"I don't have a word for it...yes, incredible, but also terrible." She shook her head. Finally she turned towards him. "And you stole his soul? That's what ripped the flesh from his bones? How does that even work?"

"I'm still figuring that out," Miraak admitted. "It's..." He trailed off. "As far as I have learned, this power has no origin, except in me. I was born with this power."

"How do you feel about this?" She asked after a moment.

"I feel...relieved, I suppose. I've killed twelve of these beasts already. If Sosvulzein had been a fluke of sorts, I'd be dead by now."

"Well, I can't say I'm overjoyed by what you're doing, waging your war, but I _am_ glad you still breathe. I just hope it stays that way."

" _Thanks,_ Sister."

"You're welcome." She narrowed her eyes as though trying to see if he'd changed. "Did you speak with the daedra again."

"I did." He responded, not bothering to lie on that point.

"Well, what did you gain?"

Miraak frowned under his mask, knowing what her reaction would be when he admitted to making a deal with it. Especially one that had been rather specific. He'd refused to give it much thought, but it still nagged silently in the back of his mind. There was a simple, unproblematic fix to Tovitaa's distaste to such. He would not speak such a truth. It was hardly a necessary detail to include.

"Not...as much as I'd...hoped," he said carefully. "He wanted me to serve him, of course, in return for what I could learn. I...refused, and that was the end of it. I determined I would learn the rest of my powers myself."

 _Such a clever statement would have made Vahlok proud,_ he thought darkly, already vowing to never speak in such a way again.

"Well, I'm relieved to hear it. You know what those creatures are like to deal with."

"Yes. Actually… Tovitaa, what _are_ you doing so far north?" He wanted to change the subject, and he was curious.

"I started studying alchemy. My mentor sent me to collect ingredients, and some only grow this far north." She explained.

"I see. Alchemy, yes, you mentioned you might try it."

"It is not that great. Hearing that old woman speak of it though, you'd think it was an incredible adventure. Really, it's a lot of work, and not the satisfying kind." She sighed. "Though perhaps I am judging to early. Maybe when I start brewing potions, I will feel some satisfaction... And though I complain, I _have_ enjoyed my time outside of Gaard. It is quite a liberating lifestyle out here. The actual ingredients are the hard part. Have you ever tried to take a sabre cat's eyeball?"

"No," Miraak responded, shaking his head at the mere idea. "I do not see benefit to doing so…"

"I don't think I'll ever drink any potions...the things they put in them. I'm surprised they are beneficial at all. I suppose that's just one of the weird things about life."

"I am curious, what state has Bromjunaar Gaard been in since the Summit?"

"More calm than you might expect." Tovitaa responded promptly. "Lord Morokei seems more agitated than normal, but that's expected. Lor- um, Juskkeinfaaz, the old dragon Lord Konahrik serves, has been visiting the temple an unusual amount of times...but I don't know why. I've also heard whispers of priests slipping away, casting off the Dragon Order, denouncing the dragons in silence... It could be just rumor, though. No one I know personally has left."

"Juskkeinfaaz… No, it would not be about me. He is far too recognized to bother himself over a mere traitor… That is all? I hope the defects see the benefit of joining together under my guidance."

"That is all the news from Gaard, at least. But..."

"Yes?" He asked.

"There is word of a rebellion brewing in the south, Miraak… Vahlok seems to think that you inspired it, even if you aren't directly connected with it."

"Indeed? A rebellion… Interesting. Peasants, I assume? They are always stirring trouble...how Vahlok could associate me with such is-"

"That is all I know of it, I'm afraid." Tovitaa interrupted the rant she sensed coming.

Miraak stared silently at the dragon's corpse, and Tovitaa folded her arms. He seemed lost in thought, drifting away from the conversation. She was reminded of another who'd spoken recently to her from such a distance. The thought brought her to something she'd nearly forgotten, and the force of remembering it left her uncertain how to broach the subject.

But her brother deserved to know. She knew Vahlok would never have told him...no, those two were enemies. Nothing would change that.

"Miraak...there is something else I should tell you…" she said softly.

He turned to her, surprised by her change in tone

"What is it?"

He saw her face contort strangely, but the expression was gone in an instant. She met his eyes, appearing tired.

"It is…" she started, then tried again, this time with more conviction. "It is about our mother, Miraak."

"Our mother?" He asked in surprise. He had not seen her since his childhood.

"She died, not too long ago. From an illness. I meant to tell you at the Summit, but honestly, I barely knew her and your drama with the dragons pushed it from my mind."

"It is alright... I do not remember much of her either... Thank you for telling me."

"Do you ever wonder why she left us?" Tovitaa asked.

Miraak walked towards Lotyolviing's skeleton. He stopped by its head, staring down at it. "She was afraid, Sister. That is why. She was afraid of the dragons, so she returned to serve them. She was afraid of my destiny, so she left me to seek it alone. She was afraid of seeing you grow old, so she left you to grow alone. She was afraid that Vahlok never truly cared for her, so she left him to finish raising her children." He turned, his eyes cold. "That is why. Fear… pathetic, useless, prey-animal fear. I have no need for such."

 _So that is his conclusion...and he is so certain in it…_ She responded, "I see… You sound certain."

"Tovitaa, one thing you should know of me, is that I am always certain in my claim."

* * *

The sky was overcast with early-spring clouds that promised either rain or snow. Or perhaps sleet. Miraak rode up the track between the snow-laden trees. It'd been a long time since he'd been here, but he was looking forward to what most likely awaited.

This was his return home after his rather successful and long adventure.

The horse trotted languidly up to the gates, now tall in standing. He heard the ring of hammers striking stone and the crash of smoldering steel while riding forward. He smelled smoke and white-hot iron in the air, and he could see that his temple was larger than ever before. Three large arches extended up the path to the temple. The arena had been expanded. Architecture twisted around the back to a courtyard laden with snow. Miraak nodded as he dismounted. A person soon led the horse away to the stables; Miraak barely noticed.

As he approached the temple, working out the stiffness in his limbs, a masked woman hurried towards him.

"My lord," She said. Miraak recognized Laana's voice. "I've returned with a rather excellent following, I think you'll find. I've already put them to work, as you can see. Kreniik is also back. He brought back more than a hundred followers. Mine number not far below."

"Good," Miraak said with satisfaction.

"What is our next move, Lord Miraak?"

"It is time to show the land what we have! The false gods have begun to fear me, but not nearly enough. Soon, I will have to target more significant dragons... There are some in mind... But I am getting ahead of myself. I have much to do first... Perhaps I will arrange for these new servants to conjure up a warm bath."

* * *

.

* * *

 **Dovahzul Translations -**

 _Dinok-Druniik - Death-Bringer_  
 _Qahnaarin. - Vanquisher._


	13. Troublesome Perspectives

~D~

XIII. Troublesome Perspectives

(Meydahmiik Silsemiinne)

Miraak paced, observing the workers struggling to manage the skeleton of his latest conquest… Lotyolviing, that had been the dragon's name. Seeing as his workers had had little else to do for the past few days, he'd put them to this task. The amount of followers that had recently joined him had given him a burst of confidence. Many now knew that the dragons could die by a mortal's hands. It was a grand secret no more. This truth had led them to where they were now.

Currently, the workers hauled in the old, weathered-looking bones amongst themselves, working together on each individual piece and placing them about like a great puzzling anomaly. They called orders up and down the hallway, their voices reverberating in the room lit in fire. The overall din of their yelling, clanking, and clattering might have granted the dragonborn a headache had he not felt his amusement growing significantly for the duration of this task. He found it rather entertaining.

Miraak chuckled slightly. No, little could bother him after such recent and sweet success.

 _They hold the bones of the mighty dragons, so willingly, so carelessly, knocking them about like awkward sculptures… It is amusing to think of when they would have once been content to sing praises to them months ago. They would have cut off their own hands and taken their own lives before laying a finger on a dragon's hide, much less his corpse. But it is my corpse now, for its soul resides within me._

 _What a travesty this must be to the supposed gods. To them, I must be a frightening mystery. To these people, I am a gods-bane. In the eyes of both, however, I am a vanquisher._

He stalked forward, then back again, gaze roaming the room. Finally, he turned to his throne and sat down, leaning forward in contemplation. He watched the others in their task, mind wandering to another subject.

 _Apocrypha...what a magnificent library. Nothing can compare to its sheer size and faculties. Yes, an amazing collection… And whatever I desire from it is mine... In return for_ _a few favors. A fair trade, I believe. Easy service until my life ends. I am not immortal like a dragon, but I am powerful. My soul is still my own. I merely lend my blade to a master of knowledge. I shall leave my legacy in this world._

There was a loud crash that broke into his thoughts. Lotyolviing's skull collapsed a stand of scaffolding, thudding to the ground. The skull fell to the side with another intrusive noise, causing an alarmed shift among those near it. Miraak heard the workers cursing, loud and obnoxious. He could see no evident damage save for the destroyed woodwork, so amusement seized him in spite of himself.

 _They struggle with the mere bones, when I brought the living one death,_ he reflected idly. _Still, they have become much different now that they are not captivated in blind worship and empty servitude. Breaking away from the dov has been the clearest decision I have ever made._

He heard urgent footsteps approaching him. He turned his attention upon them, bored.

"Lord Miraak," said a woman. She knelt respectfully when she reached him. "Sorry to interrupt your thoughts, but you said to immediately inform you of any suspicious activity."

"You may rise. What suspicious activity do you speak of?"

She stood and spoke with urgency. "One of the scouts reported... well, it's Vahlok, Lord, on horseback and two miles south."

Miraak scowled behind his golden mask. _He just doesn't give up. He must have finally decided on a course of action. It is rather unlike him, though..._

"Should we...respond?" she asked.

"No," Miraak replied. "I daresay if he's here to fight, he'll get it one way or the other. Best not waste the kenb-... followers on this, and let him come to me directly. I shall decorate the floor with his ashes, should he choose it."

"Yes, my lord." She hurried away quickly.

 _Yes, should he choose to be a fool, he'll pay the price. The Dragon Council must learn that they cannot defy me._

The hour before Vahlok's arrival passed uneventfully.

The Dragon Council priest entered the throne room silently. Many watched him stroll into the great chamber unhindered. He bore only his staff, and walked calmly. However, his familiar stride was jolted and he halted, staring at the blatantly strung-up remains of Sosvulzein. His gaze then flicked to the countless dragon fangs, claws, wing bones, skulls and horns displayed as trophies of a hunt throughout the grand room. He seemed frozen for several minutes, incapable of moving.

His eyes locked upon the workers, and they stared back. Silence immediately fell upon the great chamber.

Miraak was well-pleased by Vahlok's reaction, and he was glad to bear witness to it. The dragonborn stood as grandly as he could and stepped from his throne. He spread his hands in a mockingly welcome gesture, but spoke no words.

"This is outrageous!" Exclaimed Vahlok as he stormed forward purposefully, tightening his grip upon his staff.

"Why do you enter my temple, Vahlok?" Miraak asked, tensing.

He seized his own staff from its resting spot, surging his magicka through it. It glowed brightly before it dimmed, a vague challenge.

Miraak saw in his peripheral view his guards and followers shuffling with uncertainty, aware of what was probably going to happen. It wasn't long before the room was filled with even more men and women whose attention was drawn to the tense stand-off. Even the workers didn't bother to hide the fact that they simply ignored Lotyolviing's skull where it lay.

Almost reflexively, the two enemies began to circle each other. Miraak was ready though, for the debate that he could sense coming. The angered diatribe he would match. This was his temple, the place to show all that he would humiliate Vahlok.

And if it turned into more than an argument, then he would kill this man.

"Vax," hissed Vahlok, accepting the challenge without missing a beat. "You know why I am here. But if I must spell it out for you, so be it. I am here because you could not restrain yourself! You just couldn't resist, could you? Your campaign against the dovah? This was not the terms of our agreement when we spoke several months ago."

"We agreed to nothing. You thought you had power where you did not."

"You are like a child, Miraak! Brash! Young! Ar-"

"Arrogant? Stupid? How often have I heard that? Does your diction never change, Vahlok? You've never respected me...neither have the rest of the council. But you...they've always respected. I find it amusing, really. You do not realize what your folly will cost you. One day, they will all see your lies for what they are. You are a man of trickery, almost worse than your gods...but it will catch up to you."

"Trickery? That's what you think it is? I am-"

"Indeed, the rest of the council would have been undoubtedly upset when you chose exile for the traitor. You think they still respect you so greatly? Every word you've said since I've obtained this power has shortened your life expectancy. How many webs of lies have you spun around yourself?"

"I do not understand you…"

"News has reached me of rebellion in the south…. Tell me, are the rest of the Dragon Council members giving you dark looks now for throwing me out instead of killing me? Perhaps they will start to blame you for actions you have not committed, as they are so fond of doing." There was bitterness in his last statement, barely visible.

"My ties with the council aren't so fragile, Miraak. Some will grumble in anger, true, but it is responsibility to take it upon ourselves to make certain decisions...for the good of all. Sometimes that means wielding words as well as magicka."

 _Why are we wasting time?_ He wondered, but curiosity seized him in spite of himself. "Are you regretting your decision? Is that why you are here?"

"No, I do not regret my decision. I only hope to convince you to see wisdom… You know, there was a time when you were a promising candidate for a prestigious title, but your greed for power has clearly consumed you."

"You have never said anything of my potential before." Miraak spoke distrustfully. "I remember a man who could only find faults in every direction he looked."

"I wanted you to temper your own fire first…" Vahlok sounded as if his teeth were clenched. "I gave you a chance to do so, even before your exile!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Who gave you the ring, Miraak? Who?"

Miraak froze. The other stopped pacing and both pairs of eyes narrowed.

"What do you say?" Miraak demanded. "Did you know its purpose?"

"No," sighed Vahlok, his tension easing. "I did not. I knew it was powerful, and I did not wish to give it to you… However, I was asked by...your mother. To give it to you should she meet death. I was hesitant, truth be told, but I trusted you to do what was right. If I had known that you would play right into such an obvious trap, I would have flung it in the incinerator. I overestimated your intelligence and self-control! I was trying to make you see that all of you power-lust was pointless."

"By giving me what you thought was a powerful artifact...your logic is tragically fallible, as always."

"I should have known better." Unexpectedly, his tone changed. "For pity's sake, Miraak. Halt this imbecilic conquest before you lose yourself completely to darkness!"

"There is no stopping fate," Miraak stated. "Or your nonsense, apparently."

"I could say the same of you… Then let me tell you this, in the hopes it will force you to think; Lord Juskkeinfaaz is on the move. He is aware of your activities this last month. It has filled him with righteous rage. He started gathering followers to...deal with you - dragons whose mastery of the thu'um are far greater than yours. Don't you see? They want your blood, they want revenge! If you fade to the background now, they may still pass you by!"

"Juskkeinfaaz?" Miraak asked in incredulity.

What would encourage such a prestigious dragon to pay him any mind now when it'd been beneath their notice before? Juskkeinfaaz was another of the oldest dragons in existence, one of Alduin's brothers, but not nearly as close to the destroyer as Paarthurnax was.

 _I'm finally getting to them… At last. This is the first signs of fear in the older and more powerful dragons._

Vahlok exclaimed, "How can you not know!? His activities have gained quite a bit of attention lately."

"I've taken down followings before," Miraak stated. "Most dragons are loners in battle. If they come together to fight, it is only two or three closely-bonded dragons. Nearly twenty of your gods have fallen to my power already."

"I… I do not…" Vahlok faltered, looking around again. "Yes, it is true, isn't it? Disgusting and morbid be your powers! Still… There are enough dovah in Thuri Juskkeinfaaz's following to make one question why so many are needed!"

Miraak turned to Sosvulzein's skeleton. "Already, history is beginning to remember me. Let these beasts come. They shall fall too."

"You are truly insane! You should know your own strength! Know that you aren't c-"

"I _do_ know my strength. I know I'll win."

"It is not just Lord Juskkeinfaaz. Hevnoraak has made no secret that he wants your blood. Lord Diiviizkren, the dragon he worships, is almost as old as Lord Juskkeinfaaz! What do you plan to do when _they_ come for you?"

Mirak turned back to him. "Why concern yourself with me? Let others with more powerful than yourself fix your apparent problems. Is that not your way? To speak is your fight. Mine, however, will always be in blood!"

"And that's why you'll always fail."

"No, that is why you will not act against me. You speak when you are frightened, am I wrong?" Miraak gestured widely, raising his staff. "Come, then, Vahlok. If I am wrong, then fight me. Kill me, if you believe yourself capable. Make that example. Prove your own worthiness to your gods. Wash Keizaal in my blood with your power and please them! Is that not what you promised to do? To guard your precious dragons? Is it not your true desire? I cannot believe that you will always refuse to fight..."

Vahlok said nothing. For a moment, they simply glared through their masks at one another. Miraak shook his head before speaking again.

"No, then… Am I wrong? Why? Should I be offended or pleased by your refusal to meet me in combat? You obviously believe yourself better. Truthfully, I don't think you are afraid of me. Is it your diplomacy? Or are you starting to see the falsities of the dragons...?" he gave a dark mirthless chuckle full of menace. "No, Vahlok. You would lick their scales if they ordained your presence worthy enough to be within ten paces of them. But they do not.

"If you killed me now, your phony gods would be pleased! See now how your pathetic words fail you...how they make you weak."

"I do not wish to fight you now, Miraak. I came today only to reassure myself of how you have fallen too far. Rest assured, the day of reckoning will come...just not by me."

"Yes, let Hevnoraak and Diiviiizkren and Juskkeinfaaz and all the other dragons finish what you could not!"

"Lord Miraak!" A voice broke across the room. A man hurried forward, his mask hiding his face, but he sounded slightly nervous. He reached the two enemies, but kept a distance, intelligently wary.

"Lord Miraak," he repeated. "There are two men; one older, one younger, and a woman here to see you. They claim...well," he glanced at Vahlok, then back. "Well, they claim to be the leaders of a rebellion of sorts. Shall we grant them passage?"

Miraak stared at Vahlok, but his words were directed at the man. "Indeed? Unexpected. Very well, let us see what these peasants want."

The man nodded and hurried away.

Vahlok snapped, "It is impossible for you to avoid doing the things you'll eventually come to regret, isn't it? To grant an audience with the damned traitors in the south..." He stared at Miraak for a few minutes. Then, he turned on his heels, storming for the entrance.

It wasn't long before the strange, announced trio appeared. The first through the door was a young man with auburn hair on his head and face. He dressed in a familiar style of armor of a former guard. Furs decorated it at the shoulders and waist. He carried his helmet, and a sword hung at his belt. A shield clung to his back.

The second through was a woman, her dark blonde hair braided back out of her heavily-painted face. She was covered in sturdy armor, too, and a large broadsword hung upon her back. She was stern and unbroken in appearance.

Behind them, a man in gray robes followed. His steps were quick like theirs, but more deliberately taken and measured. His gray hair and beard hung loosely, and his eyes seemed to glint with a faintest hint of cunning senility.

Miraak folded his arms as the group approached him, curious to these rebels. He held in his amusement at their strangeness, for there was an odd air about them, something he'd never seen before in peasants. Still, he was confused with the paint upon the woman's face, something that made little sense to him. Was she compensating for a lack of beard? What could coloring one's face accomplish?

"Greetings," said the first man when they reached him, nodding slightly. "I have heard of what you've accomplished here in the north lately."

"That is unsurprising." Miraak responded. "Who are you? Leaders of some rebellion in the south, I hear?"

"Indeed. We have actively organized resistance against the Dragon Order. We've traveled far to meet with you."

"When fighting for our home, no place is too far," said the woman, her eyes flashing.

"You are Miraak, I presume? The man they've been calling 'dragonborn' for his prowess over the dragons?" The man said.

"I am, but I do not know _your_ names..." Miraak responded carefully.

"I am Hakon All-Sight," the man said, nodding. "This is my sister Gormlaith Golden-hilt, and that is Felldir the Old. We are among the ones who lead the fight for our homeland. This is Keizaal no more, but Skyrim, the land that touches the sky."

Miraak wondered over the name, Skyrim. It was fitting enough, he supposed, for the mountains one saw in the distance seemed to reach the blue.

The dragonborn said, "It is an impressive…title, of course. However, I still do not see how this has brought you to me."

Gormlaith's expression changed instantly, becoming hard and annoyed. However, she said nothing.

Hakon spoke, "I'm getting to that. About three years ago, we began to organize a more...quiet...resistance against the dragon order, and more importantly, Alduin himself. They were small deeds at first. Stolen artifacts of value, quiet deaths in the shadows, and teachings of things beyond the rule of the dragons.

"Of course, there were traitors to our order. Few saw beyond the 'truth of the immortal dovah'. We had no way to prove that there was something more important than their tyranny."

"Really?" Miraak said, his voice betraying interest. "What did you discover...Hakon All-Sight?"

"I found that the truths behind those we worshipped were fragile. There are _true_ gods, divines. Akatosh himself birthed Alduin and his dragonkin, but they hide this secret. They want us to think they are the first, that Alduin is the first dragon. The divines never intended us to bow to the dragons when we ourselves arrived in Tamriel. The dragons are just another race upon this world."

Miraak folded his arms, caught up on something he'd said. "Now you worship something else? Something called _Divines_?" He chuckled. _Peasants._ His voice grew mocking. "So, what? You've traded one overlord for another? You're comprehension of the situation is remarkably short-sighted, Hakon _All-Sight_."

Gormlaith grew sour. "The Divines are not tyrants. They are the ones who help us see wisdom, like Kyne. She and a dragon worked together to grant us the Voice." She looked at Hakon. "Do we really have to deal with this ass? It's obvious the only difference between him and all the other priests is that he no longer serves the wyrms." She looked back at him. "He still believes himself better than everyone else."

Miraak responded calmly, "I believe only the truth."

Gormlaith growled, "I'll sho-"

"Quiet down, Gormlaith," Hakon responded. He looked at Miraak. "Look, I don't care what you believe... We may see the world in different ways, but so what? It matters little at this point. You kill dragons, yes? You destroy all chance of the World-Eater raising them back to life? That is what we've heard. Is it true?"

"It is true." Miraak said. He was bothered for some reason, though, by the line of questions fired at him.

"Then help us. Of all the men in this damned world, you could defeat the Destroyer himself. Your power would ruin the possibility of him raising _himself_. Alduin would fa-"

"You presume much." Miraak had tensed. "You are asking me to deal with a problem that you yourself cannot contend with. How cowardly."

"And what does it make you to refuse to challenge Alduin?" Felldir finally spoke. "Perhaps you fear him... Yes, that would make sense. You refuse because you are afraid of Alduin, and you hypocritically condescend us in turn."

Miraak bristled. "I am afraid of no dragon...even Alduin. I simply refuse to do it to help your little, pointless rebellion."

"Pointless?!" Gormlaith stepped forward.

Hakon put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, turning her glare on him for a few seconds, then back at Miraak.

"How dare you say such!" She snapped. "You were the first to turn on the dragons openly."

"I had the power to back up my defiance."

"AND SO DO WE!" She shouted. She struggled to calm down. "We are powerful enough to face down Alduin. If we work together, he will fall more easily. There will be less death on our side. You are...what were they saying? Dragonborn? A man and a dragon in one?"

"Indeed."

"Look, it doesn't even have to be a permanent allegiance," Hakon said as persuasively as he could. "Join us in one single, fateful evening of battle, and the end is realized. A new age will dawn for mankind, and the dragons' tyranny will fall."

Miraak turned from them, silent. He paced to his throne and sat down. He leaned forward, gazing at the trio.

"Mankind," he said. His fists clenched in a blatant display of irritation. "I do not identify with the masses you are so quick to associate me with, Hakon. Why should I care for their weaknesses? You speak as if I should put weights on my ankles for the supposed _benefit_ of the shackle itself. You are helpless, so you turn to those more powerful in the hopes of protecting your own life-"

"I would gladly give my life if it would free this world!"

"I am not condemning you. You want to lead, but you only have the strength to follow. If a free world is what you seek, then you are naive." His gaze was keen now, eyes narrowed behind his mask. "But _freedom_ is not what you want...it is _purpose_. Why else scrabble with the dragons? If you wanted _freedom_ , you could charge into the wilderness to live by your wit, and ignore the suffering you seem to resent, like the tribes."

"I do not understand where this is leading, Miraak," Hakon said, his voice rising in spite of himself. "Freedom _is_ what I want. For all men, not just me."

Gormlaith's gaze had become quite murderous, and if it had been fatal, the dragonborn would have met his death. Felldir observed in silence, expression unreadable.

Miraak continued. "Put simply, I am saying that you seek purpose in this bloodshed. But you are going about it in the wrong way. Make no mistake, Alduin will fall to me one fine day, but it will not be in the names of whatever gods you have bowed to." His voice grew more welcoming. "And purpose truly is stronger than freedom. You will be wise to realize what I offer you." He raised his hands, straightening to his feet once again.

He spoke grandly, "Join me, Hakon. For I was _born_ to be your leader. I will be the glory of the new age, and an empire will rise behind my staff." He smiled, though the others could not see it. "It is as fate decreed."

"I want to kill him," Gormlaith said simply, rough voice eerily calm, but her serenity left her quickly. "He's a gods-damned dragon in a man's shape! All he cares for is his power!"

"I think we're done here," Hakon spoke. "I do not wish to follow one such as you Miraak, and if I did, I would never have worked with others and created the _revolution_ , not rebellion. Maybe you should think on why I would never accept your offer."

He turned away, walking for the exit.

"You cannot defeat Alduin without my help," Miraak responded. "Your presence here proved such."

Hakon paused, his shoulders slumping.

Miraak continued. "Even you know he is far apart from his brethren, the first dragon. I can identify with such, and that gives me the advantage. I am the first dragonborn. I feel far apart from my own kin, and you should not judge that feeling as bad. You need me, for I am more valuable to your fight than a thousand peasants or soldiers. I am the only one who can achieve victory against the World-Devourer."

Felldir snorted. "Look at him, thinks he's _so_ powerful." He looked at Hakon. "There are _other_ ways to destroy Alduin. Ways that do not involve idiots like this..."

"I agree," Gormlaith said. She stormed for the exit. "I'm leaving because I promised Hakon before we came that I wouldn't decapitate you!" She called to Miraak.

"Try it," Miraak said. "Perhaps then, truth will find its way into your doubting mind."

She spun on her heels, but Felldir was already pushing her towards the door. "Come on, Gormlaith, this is one fight you don't need to fight."

"I will fight every fight," she hissed. "I would break his neck like a twig! I did it to a dragon, didn't I?"

"Yes, yes…"

Hakon turned back to Miraak, his gaze falling. "I had thought of you differently, Miraak, when I heard of what you had done... You should listen to the stories they tell around the fires… You sound almost heroic. Alas, your power has made you blind to the constant suffering around you. I know you do not relate to men, but you should. Empathy is important to us. It is what the dragons do not have."

"What difference would it make?"

Hakon smiled in the fashion of a man thinking fondly on something. "The difference is that we care. I care. I feel my heart burn for my home...but you, you don't feel anything but your own power. The world will be free, not because of power, or order, or firstborns, or whatever you believe, but because we deserve that chance. Because we see it differently. You would enslave all to yourself in return for your help...I will find another way." He nodded. "We," he looked at the others, "will find another way."

Gormlaith nodded and exited the chamber, never looking back.

"Good to see you are as sensible as I know you to be, Hakon," Felldir said with an odd smile that seemed out of place on his craggy face. "Farewell, Miraak. I suspect I will never see you again."

Miraak folded his arms. "Leave, then, if you would rather perish for nothing."

Hakon said nothing as he and the old one left.

They...felt?

 _Felt for the land,_ is what Hakon said.

 _What could one feel towards frozen soil?_ Miraak wondered. _Why doesn't Hakon feel desire for strength and purpose, too? If he does not, then why fight his rebellion...?_

 _More importantly, why are their words so troubling?_

Miraak sat still for a moment, thinking. He pushed their words from his mind. For some reason, he felt a lingering feeling in his gut that bothered him. Pinpointing its cause was impossible, so he ignored it and let out a sigh. He felt uncertainty towards the strange trio that had just left. They acted like no other he'd ever seen before, even other peasants.

He finally noticed those who'd witnessed the entire proceedings. "Return to your work, all of you!" He shouted at the workers.

He brooded silently while the others broke into quiet mutterings and returned to their tasks, far more quiet than they had been before.

* * *

.

* * *

 **Dovahzul**

 _Dov - Dragonkind_


	14. The Bitter Rage of Fire

~D~

XIV. The Bitter Rage of Fire

(Fin Ahzid Rahgol do Yol)

The light of the morning sun illuminated three riders traveling the icy trail. The dawn was fresh, bright and cold, whispering gently with the breath of the heavens. The gentle but bitter wind rippled the riders' robes, causing them to appear as though they were made of liquid instead of fabric, waving like a whisper of magicka running through a staff. The evergreens creaked softly in the invisible force, branches stirring. The snow occasionally dropped from their limbs near the trail, causing the horses to shy every now and again. However, whenever the mounts spooked, they were settled by their masters, who were a splendid sight on the morning, wearing their masks of various metals and robes of different colors.

The first rider wore rich crimson robes. His mask was the color of burning flames. The sun glinted from the metal, setting it aflame, marking him for the magicka he favored. The dark ember of his sleeves were woven with flame, and the hems of his robes were ragged like the tips of fire.

The second rider was adorned in silvery robes. Her mask was the color of snow with streaks of the gray rock so commonly found beneath it running over its ridges. The silver ended in white at the edges of her robes, throwing her black gauntlets into sharp contrast on her hands. The light ripples in the robes made them glint like snow in the morning sun.

The third rider had black robes, the color of a burnt tree stump struck by lightning. Adorning his robes though, were the bright purple streaks that looked like electricity running across the fabric. His mask was a silver black, uniform throughout in color. The edges of his hood were marked to mimic an electrical burn.

"Does anyone want to discuss what has occurred?" asked the rider in silver, her hands clenching the reins tightly. "It's been several days. Surely your minds have churned over it as much as mine has. Ahzidal? Zahkriisos?"

"No, Zin. We do not." The fiery rider responded. He flicked a spot of white snow from his sleeve.

"Don't call me that, Ahzidal. I am no longer a name of honor, but dishonor." She continued, "I am Dukaan."

"Always so dramatic," Ahzidal muttered.

For a moment, the wind was all they heard. The occasional chirping of morning birds broke through the noise. Nothing else seemed alive on that morning, and there was little warmth in the sun. The land had never felt welcoming, Dukaan observed. All the same, she felt she belonged to it. She was the ice on the snow and in the trees, formed again from the soft lumps of white powder after being melted by the marginally warmer sun.

To be burned and returned, hard and brittle.

However, she was not brittle. She was resilient, where ice was not.

 _Maybe I am, though… I turned my back on everything I represented._

Dukaan murmured, "I've dishonored all I stood for...and I dishonor who I am now, for who I was."

"It is a losing battle, apparently," Ahzidal said, twisting in his saddle to look at her. Of course, his mask hid his expression.

"That it is," agreed Dukaan. "It always is."

"Look, if you wanted to discuss turning on the dragons, maybe you should have done that _before_ you filled the worship chamber with ice."

"You have to admit," the third rider inputted, "it worked _marvelously_ well." His horse jumped at a rabbit that darted from the trees. He shifted in the saddle, struggling to regain his balance

"Yes, Zahkriisos, a lightning-snow-storm did work well…" Ahzidal said.

The three priests had been working and planning since Miraak's visit to the Summit. When he'd emerged from the ordeal alive, they'd seen the truth of the dragons; the dovah could not even contain the rebellion in the south. They could also be felled by mortals. They were unworthy. The three had came together, planning to leave the Dragon Order behind on a fateful day of a meeting between two temples' priests.

Ahzidal had been the stranger there, abandoning his own temple completely and without even the slightest explanation to the others there.

The room of the temple had been filled with the elements of lightning and ice. When Dukaan had struck, so had Zahkriisos. She remembered the shocked eyes of her former followers staring out of their masks moments before her ice blossomed like cold cataracts across them and burst them apart.

Ice was entrancingly beautiful, she thought. And like the seasons before winter, all things succumbed to eventual death.

Dukaan murmured, "I could not preserve what was, but I refuse to dwell on it. I made my choice, and I stand by it."

"Good," Ahzidal said. "I have a feeling we're going to need that kind of confidence eventually. Miraak's not exactly the easiest of men to get along with."

"The soul of a dragon must be a burden on its owner, especially when that owner is a mortal," Dukaan responded.

"Does that excuse his annoying habit of acting so arrogant?"

"He has an old wound he is trying to hide, I am certain," Dukaan said. "The same way you hide your old wounds with your witty words. I know you hurt far more than you let on. Your name alone tells a tale far darker than your tone."

"Yes, well," Ahzidal whispered. "Let's not get into that right now, agreed?"

"I understand."

"Miraak has an old wound?" Zahkriisos said. "What could possibly sit upon his shoulders?"

"I do not know," Dukaan replied. "It is not our place to ask. It is only our place to recognize and accommodate for that knowledge. All have experienced pain, and some have learned to let theirs go. Some carry it around, swinging and brandishing it like a sword or staff. Others use it as armor, warding off the blows of others. Then there are some, that keep it inside of themselves for the length of their lives, never forgetting, never letting it go."

Abruptly, Ahzidal nudged his horse, yelling, "Hah!"

The horse snorted and sprang into a trot, outpacing the other two riders.

Dukaan stared after him. "The Embittered Destroyer. He is one who kept his inside, burning a fiery rage in his heart. However, Miraak's...he wears his like an armor, and it grants him confidence beyond his mortal life. It is strong, but so is he….and he controls it."

"Do you think like this all the time?" Zahkriisos said, his voice faintly amused.

"Do you not?" she shot back.

"I just…"

"Never bothered to learn of others, have you? Never thought to concern yourself with the pain of another? … Don't worry, many do not. It is dangerous to involve yourself in another's agonies. If they cannot clear it themselves, then they will be crushed. It is not up to you to be a crutch to try and brace them against it. You are merely a fighter, observing all those around you for weaknesses. Not to help, but to protect.

"And yes, I do think like that," she whispered. "It is strange at times."

She spurred her own horse, chasing after Ahzidal. She wasn't going to let him reach the Temple of Miraak first. No, they all needed to arrive together. Even if the fiery mage cared not for his companions, she knew he did not realize how much he needed them.

Zahkriisos pursued, but he was a little uncertain at what Dukaan had meant.

* * *

It occurred over the course of several weeks, following the visit from the rebel leaders.

Miraak watched his followers leave again, but far more slowly and for entirely different reasons than the last time they had done so. This had nothing to do with black books, daedra, and so-called blasphemy.

Overall, he wasn't too surprised. After Hakon and the other two - he could not remember their names now - had arrived at his temple with their pathetic pleas for help, Miraak's followers had expressed their desire to join the rebellion openly. The dragonborn's own refusal to do the same put them off...for a time. They had eventually approached him, typically in groups of ten or more, to ask his permission to leave.

 _Why do they wish to help the peasants that cannot help themselves?_

This question had been his first thought on the entire matter. To him, it seemed to be a waste of time and resources. If Hakon and his allies were truly targeting Alduin, then they would fall. In a matter of time, his followers would come limping back to the safety of his temple after pointless work. The petty war would end swiftly.

And when the rebellion failed, Miraak would prey upon the souls of the weakened dragons that were recovering from their wounds; he knew the fighters would wear themselves down with mortals fighting the immortal, and he'd move in for the prize. He'd become the strongest. Both men and dragons would eventually serve him when he was at his highest power. The Destroyer of Worlds himself would meet an end. Miraak would rise from the ashes of their war, a leader for a new age.

He knew that day would be the most glorious of all.

He was not afraid of Alduin, he often told himself. Once, perhaps, but no more. All he needed was power… And he was increasing his knowledge, and in turn power, every day.

Yes, without a doubt, Alduin would fall.

Because of these trains of thought, he gave the followers permission to go without the faintest effort to try and stop them. There was no need. He had more time than he could imagine to strengthen himself.

Honestly, he wasn't very concerned with the matter. He knew the rebellion was quelling the dragons' rage towards himself and distracting them while he increased his own power. It was the perfect opportunity to further train and study without interruption, most of which he did in Apocrypha where his mentor, Hermaeus Mora, could help him. He mulled over the daedra. It was he who had suggested he was ready for this day.

Miraak had grand plans for this day. They idled in his mind, swirling uncomfortably in the back of his thoughts. He had waited to indulge them, waited until he could think of little else. He was gathering himself and his knowledge, readying to leave. This mission in his mind called to him.

He stood, prepared in mind and body, and took a step forward. He knew he was ready for what he wanted to do.

 _Today is the first step in weakening the Dragon Council, my greatest enemy, for men are far more unpredictable than dragons._

However, he stopped, distracted from his task. He eyed a group of dragon priests standing near the entrance, blocked by one of his remaining followers not permitting them into the main hall. He recognized them instantly.

 _Indeed..it is..._

"Look," said the woman blocking their way, raising her voice so that it echoed to Miraak. "If you are defects, then you must speak with Kreniik! He handles the new recru-"

"You misunderstand us," said a man calmly. "We are no mere defects."

"Yes, I know, but if you have truly cast off the dragon regime, you'll know that things do not work the same here. Just because you were once respected for your positions, does not mean you will receive special treatment here as well."

Miraak was a little surprised with how she talked to these council priests. She didn't seem to show any fear as she stared them down. It was almost as if she had never served in the Dragon Order at all. He could not figure out how she was completely nonplussed by them.

The priest struggling to gain entrance said, "I'm fully aware, but I know that much about the rules are still similar. Miraak-"

"That's Lord Miraak to you."

Finally, impatience broke through. "Damn it, you insolent little insect! I-"

Miraak smiled a little under his mask. "Laana! It is fine. Let them through." He did not want any of his remaining followers reduced to smoking corpses.

She jumped in surprise. Then she scowled at the intruders, her displeasure hidden by her mask. "Yes, Lord Miraak." She said in a steely voice, never taking her eyes from the three walking away from her and further into the temple.

"Ahzidal, Zahkriisos, Zin," Miraak greeted warmly, more than expectant to their reasons for appearing before him.

 _And so they found the courage to act and found themselves needing a protective corner to back into. Here, of course._

"Ah, here comes the explanation from our woman who has apparent troubles with honor," muttered Zahkriisos.

"I'm no longer Zin," said the woman in question, ignoring him. "I am Dukaan. I have dishonored t-"

"Yes, yes, we know!" Ahzidal snapped, his temper breaking through. He spun sharply to look at the dragonborn, his robes rippling like fire and blood. "Miraak. I have heard of the path of destruction you've carved through the dragons...the damn peasants are rising up in the south. Many of the renowned priests have retreated to their temples and fortified like it's some damn war! I cannot believe this!" He calmed slightly. "Anyways, I figured the best course of action would be to come here. I need power...but these two, I don't know. They've followed me after rendering their followers to corpses."

"No, I have not just followed," Zahkriisos said. "I cannot stand the thought of serving the dragons now that they fall to mortal men. I stand with you because I would not be seen helping weak peasants."

Dukaan whispered, "this is the last path to honor I can see, even in dishonor."

Miraak approached them, arms crossed. "I have no way to share my power with you," he said to the fiery man, uneased by this sudden belief that he could grant them such. He narrowed his eyes. "I was born with my abilities. They are not capable of being shared."

Ahzidal's eyes were cold behind his mask. They glinted with greed. "Yes, I know. But you have connections to a creature who _can_ share power."

"No," Miraak responded quickly. He paused for a second, thinking swiftly, then continued, "That is out of the question. You were not chosen."

The temperamental mage tensed, his voice loud. "It's _chosen_ now is it? Really? If so, it's not your decision of who to chose."

"True. It was already decided by fate," Miraak replied.

"Miraak, what is your problem? We are alike," hissed the man. "Power is for those who have the will to control it."

"We are nothing alike." Miraak could almost see a red glint in the other's eyes. It made him pause slightly before he continued. "I cast out the dragons... _they_ cast you out, isn't that right? Why else should you be here."

"Because I made the choice," Ahzidal whispered coldly. " _We_ \- " he looked at the others for a moment, " - made that choice."

"Fine, if you wish to join me, you will live by my rules," Miraak said. "I make the decisions."

Ahzidal stepped forward, his fists clenching. "And what happens when you are in a fight with the most powerfully-talented man in Tamriel?"

"He dies," Miraak responded smoothly. "Because he's really a fool who believes himself the most powerfully-talented."

The other gave an angry laugh, "It's no wonder you don't have many friends and allies."

"I do not need them..."

"I'll die, you say? Well, let's just find out then!"

Miraak threw his ward up. The fireball burst into it, the noise exploding through the chamber, its warmth dissipating. Miraak staggered from the shattered shield, dizzy from the abrupt interruption in his magicka flow. He stepped back quickly, foot over foot while his thoughts cleared. His powerful dragon soul was instantly blazing in the fires of battle, but he continued to back away, putting distance between him and the angry mage. He needed time and room to deflect any more fire spells. Miraak stopped, realizing his foe had not followed up on his attack. Ahzidal snarled like a savage wolf, tense. Hostile gazes locked upon one another, not ready to back down just yet.

"Stand down, Ahzidal!" Hissed Dukaan, gripping her staff tightly, but she and Zahkriisos were both backing away from the fiery mage too.

"Never!" Ahzidal growled.

There was a moment suspended in time, the next moment hanging by a thread, and then Miraak moved forward. The dragon soul roared through him, wanting to rend, tear and claw. He raised his staff and greeted his foe with a burst of lightning. His enemy flew backward, hitting the floor unceremoniously. There was a flash of flaming robes, and the other rose quickly. Without missing a beat, the angry mage was preparing another attack.

His staff glowed and a wave of fire raced across the surface of the floor, a gust of scorching wind. Miraak was ready with his ward, which accepted the punishment from the brutal spell. Miraak had a moment to silently admit his respect to the prowess behind the attack, which nearly destroyed his ward anyway. Ahzidal summoned a flame cloak, howling. Wreathed in fire, he swept forward, a demon of rage. He burned, brighter than possible, but never touched by his own hate-filled power, causing all who gazed upon him to squint.

It was then, Miraak realized, Ahzidal's power came from his sheer, endless rage.

Miraak's staff flashed up. Lightning arced out. Ahzidal spun, his robes churning and disappearing within the bright magicka around him until he seemed to be made of nothing but fire. He brushed off the electricity with a wave of flames. His gesture was full of ease. The dragonborn was impressed again by the man's power.

Miraak saw his eyes glowing an unnatural, burning red color when the flames danced out of the way of his vision.

"FO KRAH DIIN!" the dragonborn shouted, ice rushing for his opponent.

Ahzidal's fire raised like a wall, consuming the frosty wind with all the hunger of a dragon. The flames flickered only for a moment, but came back, burning just as brightly. He approached his opponent calmly, unbothered. The calm rage would have been frightening to a lesser opponent.

Miraak was not a lesser opponent.

"Fine, I did not want to harm you, Ahzidal, but you leave me little choice," he growled. He whipped his staff forward. "I will not hold back."

"I did not ask you to!" Ahzidal responded. "I thought you said I would die! Prove it!" His flames lashed around him like writhing serpents.

"Mul Qah Diiv!" Miraak shouted, wreathed instantly in his thu'um armor.

"This is what the daedra taught you…? You've no right to deny me its knowledge!" Snarled Ahzidal, raising his staff.

"I am the one who found Hermaeus Mora. Not you, Ahzidal!"

Ahzidal rushed forward, flames billowing like a cloak. There was no telling what were his robes and what were the tongues of flame surrounding him. He was one with the very magicka he'd spent his life perfecting.

"FUS RO DAH!" Miraak shouted. The wave of blue force burst out with the strength of a dragon's tail lash.

Ahzidal flew back, too close to avoid the attack, hitting the floor and sliding across it. Streams of fire were left in his wake. His staff clattered from his grip, and Miraak saw his flames dim considerably. It was his chance. He pulled on his dragon soul again, pulling his own fire.

 _Fire with fire,_ the inner dragon snorted, indignant, beating its wings eagerly. _Burn his out, and watch his flesh melt._

 _I do not intend to kill him, just to teach him his place,_ Miraak thought.

His staff burned brightly, another torch in the largely illuminated chamber. The bright light reflected on the walls.

Ahzidal raised himself.

Miraak released his summoned armor, letting the protective shell of the dragon go. He would trade defense for offense. He used the power he'd been directing to it for his spell. His dragon reared within, but also without, a shocking apparition of flame and might surrounding him from the depths of his dovah soul, glaring with both ancient and young energies.

It was the same spell from the bandit camp.

Miraak recalled how weary it had left him.

 _I must humiliate him with a single strike… I will not be as weary as before, after my recent training, but I need not battle him weakened in any way… One strike will be all I need._

Ahzidal was on his feet again, his power swirling around himself. He paused, staring at the inferno dragon raging before him. Miraak whipped his staff down, aiming his attack. Before he unleashed it though, he cut some of the immense power from it. The dragon smashed against the enemy, a faint howl echoing from its form. Flames leapt from the floor. Miraak lost sight of Ahzidal to the orange inferno.

He stood, knowing he had held back his true power in that single attack. He had not wanted to kill Ahzidal or tire himself out so much, so he'd restrained it...

The man of fire and anger emerged from the blaze like a daedra from the depths of Oblivion.

There was no time to react.

Ahzidal slammed his staff into his opponent's sternum. Sharp pain rushed through Miraak. Over and over again, the attack came. The man was brutishly strong and burning in absolute rage. Miraak unleashed electricity, the attack running over his opponent. Ahzidal's arms seized, and the dragonborn pulled back.

Within moments, Ahzidal was howling madly. He leapt forward, seizing his enemy by the neck and slamming him against the wall. Miraak was stunned, equally amazed by the pure, maniacal strength in the other's limbs.

Fingers crushed his voice out of him. Miraak knew he would have to use a spell. He could not shout, winded and strangled as he was. He struggled to focus upon the fire. His dragon roared indignantly in his head. The fire from Ahzidal was finally overwhelming his own enchanted robes. It was burning, orange everywhere, and like a monster, the angry mage's fiery gaze bore into him. Searing pain lashed against him, the physical incarnation of rage.

Darkness crept across Miraak's vision. He tightened his grip upon his staff, summoning power to protect himself.

It was burning.

It was so hot, it felt almost cold.

Then suddenly, it _was_ cold.

A shocking wave of ice slammed across them both, the brunt of the power hitting Ahzidal. He had not been expecting the attack, so it was more or less successful; it brought a sense of reality to the raging man. His fiery cloak faded. Ahzidal released the dragonborn. He stepped back twice and sat down upon the floor like a child with nowhere to go.

Dukaan stood nearby with her staff before her, its tip glowing white. It shook slightly in her grasp, the motion hardly noticeable.

Miraak leaned against the wall, inhaling and exhaling quickly. He looked down a little, noting the damage. His robes were singed along the edges, and the scent of burnt cloth filled the air. He breathed quickly, struggling to regain a normal respiration rate.

 _Even without the thu'um armor… These robes are especially enchanted to withstand elemental magicka...especially flames. He is powerful, indeed… Pure rage. How did this man turn emotion into a weapon?_

Dukaan walked between Miraak and Ahzidal, not taking her eyes from the man upon the floor. She was wary, tense, still expecting an attack, but her hands were steady now.

"Well," The woman of dishonor commented after a moment of nothing, "he has always had a loose temper...especially when he's had a bad week. I find ice from an outside source - such as myself - sometimes quells the demonic rage well enough...if you can reach him with it. Even that is very challenging."

Miraak stared at Ahzidal too, waiting to see if the other would attack again.

The man remained on the floor. All traces of magicka he'd summoned had vanished. He had his knees drawn up and his arms folded across them. He was staring blankly ahead. Water from the melted ice dripped off his mask in places. He said nothing, his robes clinging to him. They looked like fire no longer, but blood, slick from water.

Miraak folded his arms, still ready should the other decide he wasn't done fighting, but he was considerably more relaxed.

"Miraak," Dukaan spoke, turning away from Ahzidal. "If you do not wish to treat us as equals, then we will find our own path."

"It seems...many are doing that now," Miraak responded. "You condemn how I have received you, though you do not try to understand my reasoning."

"Which is?"

"None of you have my power. That doesn't mean you aren't powerful. It is a different kind of power... How _should_ I treat you?"

"With respect," said Ahzidal from where he sat. "We were all Council members. We all had gained our positions through hard-won battles. _You_ should know that… Respect, is all I ask."

"I have not respected you properly?" Miraak asked, irritated.

"You mock me."

"This is not mockery."

There was a pause.

"You do not see me as worthy of your daedra master."

"He is not my…" Miraak trailed off, remembering the deal he had made.

 _Until death…_ echoed hollowly in his mind.

"He is my mentor...not master."

"Truly?" Laughed Ahzidal hoarsely.

Miraak walked a few steps away, glaring daggers at his own followers who'd gathered to watch the spectacle. They couldn't see his expression of course, but they didn't need to. They turned and quickly busied themselves in other tasks, such as leaving the room.

He spun around when he heard Ahzidal climb to his feet. The man had pulled his mask off, and his eyes burned, but not as brightly as before. There was a golden beard along his face, and it'd been braided carefully at the end. His jaw was clenched, but he relaxed his tensity after a moment. He looked down at his mask.

"I...thought you would understand," he said. "I have been looking to improve myself...always. I thought it was what you were doing." His expression grew stony. "I was wrong. All you are is an imbecile drunk on power, so myopic you would turn away allies because you sit upon your treasure like a kerluvak!"

"I am not here to pass out power like a priest giving orders... If you cannot claim it yourself-"

"I would claim it!" Ahzidal responded. "Like always. I would have it… And you are..." His face morphed again, veins thrown into sharp view upon his forehead.

Zahkriisos put a hand on his shoulder, "Ahzidal, you're going to go into another rage! Calm yourself."

"I will have perfection!" Responded the other, shrugging him away. "I am the embittered destroyer! I...cannot believe this..." He turned. He closed his eyes, putting his fingers to his temples. "I swore on their graves… I swore I'd succeed. I swore I'd avenge them... I did. The white elves perished to the weapons I made…and my revenge was complete."

He looked up, gaze burning.

"Fine, Miraak. If you wish to refuse allies, that is your problem...not mine. I will seek perfection in other places!" He replaced his mask and stalked for the entrance.

Miraak watched the mage exit the throne room with a swift stride.

"I've little doubt he'll return," Zahkriisos said, "He's gone to cool down, surely. The discussion will have to wait to continue until then. In the meantime, I don't really see us finding a better place to linger, so... Miraak?"

"You are welcome here," Miraak said, annoyance brimming in him. "But do not expect me to hand you power." He also approached the door. "I'm going to kill a dragon...I was just about to leave before you arrival."

 _My task. My destiny._

"Now?"

"Yes..." Miraak paused by the door, staring back. "This one is...special. It will cause a stir, I've little doubt. It's time I started the next stage in my own work. You may remain here until I return, and then we'll discuss this situation more certainly."

"You sure you don't want help? I'm itching for a fight," Zahkriisos said. "I've actually never fought a dragon before..."

"No," Miraak said. "I must do this alone."

He hurried through the door.

"He is troubled," Dukaan observed. "One should not go into battle burdened with troubled thoughts." She crossed the room, taking a seat. "I think Ahzidal's power stunned him. He really doesn't grasp his own vulnerability, does he? He may be powerful, but he's not invincible. In his quest to further himself from the dragons, he has become like one."

"I don't like this," Zahkriisos responded, following his ally. He sat across from her. "I suppose we wait until they return."

"And then it starts over again," Dukaan sighed. "I just have to be ready to frost Ahzidal again."

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul**_

 _Kerluvak - Hagraven._

* * *

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **Author's Note -** If I were a reader of this story, and not the author, I'd probably be to the point where I was wondering when Miraak will get in over his head... I mean, how many times can he go into the fire and not get burned?... Metaphor intended after such a fiery chapter. Anyways, next chapter will show what happens when he gets it in his head he's invincible._


	15. The Merciless Brutality

_**A/N** \- Well, this is probably the most intense chapter I've written so far. Truthfully, though, I feel it was the only way to do the respective scene justice._

 _ **Warning** \- This chapter, if no others, has earned it's T rating(though I'm certain that has happened already). If you have questions or concerns of content before reading, PM me via my profile._

 _Hope you enjoy the chapter! It's the longest one yet!_

* * *

 _._

* * *

XV. The Merciless Brutality

(Fin Aaznu Hevnoraak)

Ahzidal wasn't the best at controlling his rage, but he knew the basics of calming down began with getting far away from the problem agitating him. And now he _was_ calm. Fortunately, this sense of self-serenity wasn't a false calm, or a rage forced away; it was vexation burned out, like a pile of ash left behind in the wake of a fire. It'd taken him awhile, yes, but he had succeeded in burning his fires of rage out. He had won the victory of emotions that was so often lost. He had wanted to burn Miraak and had known lingering in the temple while his heart still sang it's angry chords would be a terrible idea.

And he was gloriously content now, the vexation gone.

He returned swiftly to the temple, his thoughts only on what he wanted to truly say without his words being laced by anger or hatred. He entered doors barely noticed, passing workers who shot him sideways glances from their work. He ignored them and entered the throne room, feeling that he could convince Miraak this time.

He saw that Dukaan and Zahkriisos were playing an involved game at a small break table to the side. From his limited view, it appeared to involve a board with small figures. Both of the players looked up, then quickly back down at the game.

"You're finished, Zahkriisos," Dukaan declared after shifting a piece, folding her hands together.

Ahzidal lowered himself onto the bench next to her, staring disinterestedly at the object of their attention. He barely saw it.

"Damn it," Zahkriisos muttered in response to his loss. He looked up. "I wondered who'd be back first."

"Where is Miraak?"

"Went to kill a dragon, he claimed."

"Really?"

Dukaan added, "he said it was important to him. Apparently we'd interrupted one of his dragon-hunting trips. He said, _'This one is...special. It will cause a stir, I've little doubt. It's time I started the next stage in my own work,'_ and stalked out." When voicing Miraak, she deliberately imitated his deep voice to the best of her ability.

Ahzidal leapt to his feet. "Are you serious?...and you just _watched_ him leave? You sat around playing games?"

"Not entirely..."

"Why not?" Zahkriisos said. "He's killed _many of the dragons_ , hasn't he?"

"I know which one he seeks! For what else would be so important?" Ahzidal frowned under his mask. "He'll find trouble...get himself killed." He fidgeted.

"Well," Dukaan began to point out, "you were more than ready to see him die a while ago."

"I was angry. It's different when I'm angry."

"At least you are honest."

Ahzidal stared at the door. Then, still fidgeting a little, he retook his seat. "If nothing else, he's going to be a frost-bitten skeleton soon..."

* * *

The morning sun was lost behind the wall of clouds, but it's light still illuminated the lands. The snow was deep; the latest part of the season had settled over Skyrim, heavy with precipitation. It was this terrain that Miraak trekked. If he were a different man, he may have stopped to take in the gorgeous snow-covered terrain, stretching for miles in any direction. Mountains rose in the distance, reaching the gray sky. Still, he enjoyed the harshness of the land. It reminded him of his own strength, of his ability to thrive in it the way he did.

Four days had passed since his fight with Ahzidal, but it felt a lot longer. He'd used three days to reach his destination, and one more to regain the strength he'd lost in the fight. He was well-rested, and he was far from hungry, having hunted a deer for himself the day before.

There was a sharp pang though, but not a crippling pain. No, a hungry dragon fought better than a well-fed dragon. Small discomforts led to more power, but only if they were carefully balanced. The side of him that was still human could be easily crippled if he chose to ignore mundane tasks such as eating or drinking.

It made his dragon half angry. It did not like his weaknesses, which became more apparent the stronger his dovah became. It desired to wear the skin of its brethren, not that of a mortal man. Miraak did not recall the point when he had begun distinguishing two parts of himself, but it became apparent now in the fights he fought. There was an arrogant, angry, demanding dragon in him. Even if it made him powerful.

 _If I had wings,_ the dragon seemed to growl.

"I would fly," Miraak murmured.

 _If I had claws._

"I would rend my enemy's flesh."

 _If I had scales._

"I would deflect any blade."

 _If I had the body of a dragon._

"Then I would be one of them," Miraak mumbled. "I would not fight them. I would bow to Alduin. I would enjoy the worship of mortal men. I would be no one but another false god grasping vainly for not. No, I am glad that I am this."

He could feel the snort of indignation that followed. Often, though, he wondered if his task would be easier if his human body were not so fragile when compared to the dovah. On the other hand, he'd learned that it was not so fragile as he'd once thought. Upon his journey, he'd once plummeted several feet, crashing his leg upon a stone, and it had not broken; he already knew that his body was stronger than most men, even if it were not nearly as strong as a dragon. In combat, if he combined this attribute with his favored dragon-armor shout, he was as close to a dragon as he could get. Killing more dragons gave him more power. Perhaps that was what strengthened his body too? He knew he was ready for this fight, regardless. Now was not the time for simple, pointless musings.

He trekked the pathway, alert. His right hand clutched his staff loosely, and his left hand rested upon his sword hilt. The souls of the dragons flowed within him, and he felt confident in himself. He was confident in his power, in his ability, and in his knowledge. Each dovah was easier than the last as he grew, strengthened, and learned. It seemed all that made him strong increased with each new kill.

He was ready to use all he had gained.

He was ready to face this dragon.

 _Diiviizkren._

The name was of a powerful and respected dragon, worshipped by armies of men, the head of which being Hevnoraak himself. He'd chosen such a beast after much contemplation. He could think of no better dragon with such prestige to kill. Not only that, it was a perfect way to retaliate against Hevnoraak. Destroying Diiviizkren would give him the power he needed to finally start his conquest in earnest…

He knew he could win. Learning to challenge dragons the way he had gave him an open advantage; he could choose the battlefield. And as a long-time fighter, he knew how to choose his ground.

He reached the height of the trail, his gaze falling upon the large valley below.

 _Here... Here is where the dragon will fall. Among ice and snow, the dragon of the same element will meet his death. This large, open area serves my purpose adequately. I know my target, I know my power, and I know my purpose._

He shouted.

 _"DIIV IIZ KREN!"_

* * *

Hevnoraak stood upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He leaned forward upon the battlement, his hands bracing himself on the railing, resting between the spikes of black metal that marked it. Somewhere in the distance, a lone crow cried out, the empty sounds reaching the priest's ears. He cocked his head slightly, listening. The sound was rough, coarse, but familiar...almost comforting. Nothing could comfort such a man as he, though. Not long after the crow's cry, another sound caught his attention, footsteps nearby, not far behind him.

"Admiring the view?" Asked a voice.

He glanced sideways, his gaze picking out Volsung. She marched forward, her voice just as proud and pompous as he recalled. He straightened his stance, no longer leaning upon the rail.

He responded softly with a question, "Now that you are here, Volsung, what do you make of the battlements?"

"Just the right amount of menace. If you wanted to make the peasants soil their robes, you've done it correctly."

"Why are you here?"

"Because of the rebellion. The Council sent me, unsurprisingly. Few seem willing to interact with you."

"Fear is good." The dark-robed priest looked at her. "But you do not fear me, do you? Not now, anyway..."

"Fear is for the pathetic and weak." She responded.

"What of the rebellion?" He asked softly. "It is another throng of soulless peasants scrambling for power. Nothing more. Why should the Council concern itself so unnecessarily when there are greater problems?"

She ignored the question. "The Council want some of your resources directed south. Supplies, men, armor, weapons…. the mundane requirements of war. We know you've plenty to spare."

The other chuckled slightly. " _War_ , is it? Hmmm… They do not have to enjoy my presence to desire my things…" He looked back out to the courtyard, leaning upon the rail. "Tell them...that I will give them what they want, when they turn their attention north. That is the real problem...not the peasants... This Miraak."

"They will not agree to such terms. You were out-voted, remember. The peasants have become a greater concern now that we know certain dragons are aiding them. The traitor is not aided by any dragons, like they are."

"Yes. I know."

"You do _not_ know that one of the dragons helping them is Paarthurnax."

Hevnoraak's gaze snapped around. "Thuri Paarthurnax?! Impossible!"

"Thuri no more," Volsung said, her voice raising. "He is outcast now. He killed _three_ of his trusted officers last week. For the peasants… I cannot believe it either."

"It must be a trick! He would never turn on the Firstborn!"

"We know he has. There is proof. The dovah have forbidden his name even be spoken in anything but disrespect. They call him dovah no more. He is now ni-dovah. Not-dragon."

Hevnoraak gripped the rails, "it is the traitor's doing! It has to be. This is what happens when the daedra are allowed such influence in our world." He turned back to Volsung. "I will see the Dragon Wing River run red with his blood! The echoes of his screams should ring for miles in the mountains - a reminder to all the cost of stupidity and naivete!"

"This is not about the traitor," she responded smoothly. "This is about-"

"Is it not? So many have declared themselves better because one of our own - who never deserved the title - turned first. Don't you see that he is the root of this entire... _rebellion_?" He spat the last word.

He was shaking with fury now. His eyes burned under his mask, hands flexing again in agitation. The wind stirred his robes until he appeared as a shifting shadow, shimmering with a red aura. Volsung took a step back, her arms folding to show she had not lost her composure.

"Hevnoraak," she said. "I have not seen you so angered in a long time."

"No...you have not," he nearly growled. "I want to tear the traitor into pieces, Volsung. I _want_ to!"

"But the Council w-"

"Let the Council complain, then! They will not see that this traitor needs to be dealt with immediately. For some reason, they would prefer to look south for their problem. Vahlok's work, no doubt. We all know that he is soft! No… We destroy the traitor, we destroy the rebellion. In that exact order. Nothing else will succeed."

"I agree that the traitor should die, but the Council has decided to quell the southern rebellion first… And you're speaking as if the peasants will win without the traitor's death. That makes no sense."

"Not the peasants. Their _ideas_. You can't _kill, maim or destroy_ an idea. However, you can cause it to wane. If Miraak is ignored, the peasant's ideas of rebellion will thrive." Abruptly he laughed again. "My hands are going to be very bloody within a few moon cycles, I am sure. The Council wants my help, but... None of my peasants would _ever_ rebel. They can count on the slow, agonizing death that would follow. Why don't the other priests learn from that example?"

" _Are_ you refusing the request from Bromjunaar Gaard?" Volsung asked sourly.

"A high priest sells himself to a daedra, and look at what has happened since. Three other high priests have defected to his side. Many dragons have been reportedly killed by this man. Dragons have begun killing each other in closer territories. The peasants rise in the south, and once-respected dovah do the unthinkable and assist them! The world has gone mad, in short."

Hevnoraak approached her, a shadow in the dull day. He put his hands on her shoulders. She jumped, feeling the tension in them as they dug into her robes painfully. It took all of her self-control not to try and flee. She met his gaze, determined to show no fear. His eyes burned into hers angrily, full of his malice.

He murmured, "Tell the Council, dear Volsung, that if they do not want to help me deal with the troublesome traitor in the north, then I will not help them deal with the mob of traitors in the south!"

Volsung's words faltered, "But...you can't just refuse this order… The Council...a-"

"Shhhh… Do not worry, they will understand when all is finished… Especially when, by then, I will be the one leading the Council." He whispered.

"You can't just say that, Hevnoraak!"

"Now...run along. I don't need to hurt _you_ …" He dropped his arms and turned away.

Her shoulders stung, but she did not respond to the faint pain. Instead, Volsung turned and marched away, feeling as though she'd just ran from Bromjunaar Gaard all the way to Hevnoraak's temple. Her limbs were rather weak, and the shaking she noticed had not ceased. She quickened her stride, silently growing angry to be unnerved like that. It was mostly anger she felt as she rode out, spurring her horse quickly.

Hevnoraak returned to the railing, watching the horse and rider vanish through the gates.

A mighty roar like the sound of a storm announced the presence of the god. The dark dragon swooped in, his wings pushing the air in great drafts of icy wind. He landed upon the wall, folding his wings. Unlike most dragons, his body was unusually lithe and light-weight, never shuddering the ground upon landing. His wings were large, but he was easily the fastest flyer of his brethren, and his cunning and odd fighting style had given him an edge over dragons that had silenced any talk of him not being a worthy dovah. He seemed to absorb all of the already-dull, watery sunlight, for his scales lacked all luster.

He fixed his complex, blue eyes upon the priest.

Hevnoraak bowed respectfully before straightening.

"Dii fron krif nivokmun vax muz. Zu'u los nuk fah vax jul slen, sonaak." Snarled the beast, it's tongue swiping it's maw. Angry droplets of saliva leaked from its mouth. The dragon spoke of his readiness for war to quell the rebellion in the south.

"Ol hi hind, Diiviizkren thuri." The priest assented.

That was when they heard the challenging shout ringing from the distance. _"DIIV IIZ KREN!"_

The dragon raised its wings, snarling. It lowered them, growing still. Diiviizkren's head tilted to the sky in curiosity.

Hevnoraak breathed, "That was..."

"The mortal man who took the name of dovah-slayer challenges me! I will not refuse," snarled the dragon. "He is weak. Ni dovahkiin, ni qahnaarin. I will pull his bones apart with my teeth!"

"Wait, thuri!" Hevnoraak said. "This one is different. It is the one who has killed many of your younger brethren."

"Then to avenge them!" Came the response. "Are you suggesting I am too weak?! I would kill you for such..."

"I am merely informing you... I have a personal reason to be interested in this fight. I'd be much honored if you were to allow me to assist you, Thuri."

The dragon turned a keen gaze upon the priest. "Hmmm, that would make sense." He tensed. "Very well, but do not feel this makes you special, Sonaak! You will not speak of this humiliation in the future."

"Settled, Thuri." Hevnoraak bowed again, a slight smile upon his lips under the dark mask of power. It never reached his cold, emotionless eyes. "I am yours to command, as always."

* * *

Miraak eyed the gloomy horizon. He nodded his head slightly upon hearing the distant dragon roar. The black shape appeared in the dismal skies as if it had materialized from the mountains in the distance, growing larger with each flap of its powerful wings. The cold, drafty wind carried it along. The beast approached with speed, its lithe shape darker against the dark clouds.

Dragons were prideful creatures, never giving their servants much thought. Certainly they never gave them any respect. Because of this unspoken fact, Miraak was immensely surprised to see a rider upon the dragon's long neck. In fact, it was such a ludicrous idea, that he wasn't even sure if he saw correctly. However, it became clear that there was no mistake. He felt a faint stab of dread. Even from that distance and up in the air, the dark, distorted mask and robes were unmistakable.

Hevnoraak.

Cold indeed would be the nature of such a man as this. He was cruel, merciless, brutal. The blackness of his mask was only mirrored by the darkest shadows that lingered in the ice-cold heart of his chest. And like the freezing wind biting into its victims to spread frostbite, he would fight with relentless precision, cold passion, and with an uncompromisable mentality. It was easy to see his intentions.

Miraak had not expected this occurrence. However, he was somewhat pleased with the idea of slaying both this dragon and his pet priest in one fight, despite all of his misgivings. He reminded himself that he could do it. He had to concentrate. No foe was unconquerable.

 _I will adapt to the situation. I must._

"So you came yourself, Hevnoraak," Miraak said, steeling himself. "The man of brutality..."

"Ahhh...Miraak. The vax." Said Hevnoraak in his low voice. "What else do you have to your name, but your betrayal? It is all those of the future will remember you for."

 _He is riding the dragon... How is it possible? Fickle beings, these dovah. Still...Diiviizkren seems different than most of the dragons I have seen_ _. Sosvulzein would never have let even the most respected priest climb his scales...the notion in itself is odd. This being is far different than his kin._

He felt more uncertainty. His foe, now foes, were not what he had expected.

"It seems Diiviizkren enjoys having his pet," Miraak said. "I will show neither of you mercy. By coming here, you have forfeited your lives." He declared.

"Oh, truly?" The priest gave a dark chuckle. "We shall enjoy stealing the life from you, arrogant, grasping child."

The black dragon growled. "I have humiliated myself because of you, Vax." Diiviizkren snarled, "I will make you pay that price over again until you are obliterated both in body and soul!"

Miraak replied, "I am more than re-" His sentence seemed to freeze when he registered the beast shifting its weight.

He never had time to react.

The dragon's huge claws crashed into him, and the sharp pain ripped through his body. Large claws sank into his shoulders, chest and stomach. His back hit the ground and the air rushed from him. The crushing weight of the dragon pressed upon him, but not enough to kill immediately. Icy snow cascaded over him from the impact, its cold contrasting with the hot blood of his wounds.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't shout.

The angry dragon within him thrashed wildly, flailing. It longed for the claws to gouge its opponent with. The jaws to snap the bones of the enemy's leg. The teeth to rip the adversary's flesh apart. Miraak had none of those, and the dragon was especially enraged by this fact.

Miraak could almost find no distinguishment with the angry dragon inside from a real dragon. What made him different than the the beast upon him? What distinguished him from the tyrants of the sky?

The dragon roared, "Miraak! You are no dragon, even as you claim the soul of one. You _are_ nothing!"

Miraak almost thought the voice had come from his inner dragon, somehow magnified in the physical world around him.

"You _will_ learn fear before we are finished with you!"

 _No. Not the inner dragon. Diiviizkren. Diiviizkren is the one who spoke… I will not lose like this._

He felt his ribs cracking under the strain.

He snarled.

In desperation, he barely realized his right arm was still free...free and clutching his staff. He may not have claws or fangs, but he wasn't helpless. He moved the weapon, scraping the tip against scales. He called his magicka quickly and unleashed it from the staff. It had all the wrath of a violent storm. Waves of electricity raced over the dragon's flesh. They glowed oddly purple in the lightning.

The air shook when the beast leapt back. His howls of fury and pain rended the wind.

Wondrous air rushed into Miraak's lungs. He rolled over, pushing against the snowy ground with his hands. He made his feet, stumbling for a moment, and burst into a run. He had no time to think even though he desperately needed it. He could feel the inferno in his chest, set alight by the dragon in his soul. Its anger was not his own, he realized, suddenly horrified by the notion that this source of power was somehow separate from himself, uncontrolled.

"Miraak!" Hevnoraak hissed, shaking off the attack from where he sat. "Fleeing does little good for you, traitor!"

Miraak found his voice, echoed by his now furious inner dragon. "MUL QAH DIIV!"

The armor cloaked him and he spun around. A jagged spike of ice impaled his shoulder. He growled, angry as pain raced from the wound. He summoned his ward, deflecting the next attack of ice. He retaliated, pouring power into his fire spell. He launched it, fixated by its progress. The burning projectile slammed into the Diiviizkren's face, causing it to flinch. It's skin smoldered. Shaking its head, it howled.

Miraak prepared for the next spell. He needed all the power of the spell fueled by his dragon. He expected the hit from such an attack would give him an opening. As before, he summoned his power to him, but he did not dare let go of his armor. He raised his staff before him, feeling the rushing and angry power of his dragon.

 _Burn him to nothing!_

He released the power. His hands jerked. The energy expelled wildly, bursts of flames very unlike the dragon before lashed out. Diiviizkren ducked back, breathing ice to combat the heat. It twisted away, avoiding much of the power.

 _I…_ Miraak's hands shook, the power far more draining than he'd realized. He was bewildered, and a dark unnatural feeling arose in him. _How did I lose control of that spell!?_

The answer could not have been more clear. The dragon in him was raging out of control, its angry fire no longer his. He'd given it a personality. He'd created it, nurtured it, but all it wanted was what every dragon had wanted - pain and death.

 _I've been wrong... I know what they meant now..._

Diiviizkren's head raised, realizing the immediate danger to it had passed.. It surged forward, jaws open, pain glittering in its small, dark eyes. The dragonborn raised his ward again.

"GAAN LAH HAAS!" It shouted.

Dark energy rushed forward. Miraak poured more strength into his blue ward, but he had less to give than he liked. The dragon's thu'um was impressively powerful, too. The shout made him flinch. His shield shattered. He grunted and fell to his knee. Fortunately, he had escaped the direct powers of the shout. He raised his gaze.

Hevnoraak hissed. "Together now, Thuri Diiviizkren!"

The shout exploded from the pair simultaneously. "KRII LUN AUS!"

Horrible pain wracked Miraak, and his vision blurred. He doubled over, gasping. The most awful feeling filled him. Everything burned in pain. He struggled to regain himself, but he felt sick. His stomach tightened in agony. Slowly, he dragged his foot forward. He tried to stand, but a burst of icy wind knocked him back. It burned everywhere. His vision wavered.

 _This...is…_

He growled, trying to concentrate on his power. "DIIV IIZ KREN!" He shouted, but his voice was rough and thin.

"You're thu'um is weak, Dovahkiin!" Snarled the dragon, stomping forward. "You cannot slow me by calling my name!"

Snow swirled about its feet, and it raised its head. Miraak looked and saw its chest start to glow silvery-black, the surest sign that the dovah was about to exhale its most basic and rawest power. Diiviizkren's long neck undulated, jaws opened, and ice spilled forth.

"FO!"

"Yol," Miraak barely managed.

The fire was exhausted almost before the two shouts met. The dragonborn felt the terrible chill rush through him. His body was spiked with intense discomfort. Shuddering, it was all he could do to breathe. Even the wildfire inside seemed dimmed from the icy temperatures.

"I believe he will not rise easily after that," said Hevnoraak. "Softer than I expected." He slid from the dragon's neck, landing on the ground and bending to accommodate the shock of the action.

"I am more clever than the other dovah he fought," Diiviizkren snarled in dominance, baring his teeth.

Miraak found enough strength to flop over like a fish. He felt useless, and realized his staff was no longer with him. Pain surged through him and he groaned, struggling to rise again. He tried to call on his power, but he may as well have been trying to grab the sun. He received nothing. The burning flame inside was unreachable, buried so close, but so far.

 _The dragon soul betrays me...how terribly fitting_. He thought, angered as much as his exhausted mind would let him be.

"Miraak...vax...traitor...," Hevnoraak whispered, moving like a wraith across the snow. "Acquisitive boy! You have no right to your power...nor can you even wield it. A child with an axe!"

He steadily closed the distance. Miraak tried to find his strength to retaliate, to even stand. He couldn't believe how quickly all had happened. The dragon was far more powerful than he had anticipated. He'd never expected Hevnoraak to come. He'd not prepared for him…not when his own power had failed.

A hand clamped onto the back of his robes, dragging him to his feet with unnatural strength.

" _Child_ … Do you know what I do to pathetic weaklings begging at the end of their ropes?" The hissing voice oozed grim assurance.

"I'm...not..."

"Not what? A child? Your lifetime is but a fraction of the dov...and barely half of mine..." Hevnoraak's mask thrust into view. He locked his fingers around Miraak's mask. A crack expressed the amount of power surging through it. The broken pieces fell to the snow. The drop in power left Miraak especially dizzy for a moment.

"I'm going to make you scream." Hevnoraak promised.

The former dragon priest toiled innerly to regain control of his power. A dagger punched into his stomach. He cried out.

"That's right..."

The blade twisted, and Miraak's body seized. Gasping, he refused to scream, to please the sadistic priest. The blade struck again.

Diiviizkren snarled, "that's right, Sonaak. Vax marzuue lig zey."

 _I'm...not…_

 _I...won't…_

Hevnoraak's voice droned a chant-like sound, words that were quickly losing meaning. They made no sense, and his mind was spiraling, losing itself. But he couldn't lose now...not now...

 _I...cannot...fail..._

Focusing on his weakened power, he pulled at it desperately. His thoughts began flowing too quickly to map. If the dragon would not help him, then he had to remember who he was even before he learned he was dragonborn. The thought brought him back to the point of his learning. The memory of his very first shout, directed at a daedra. He remembered that. The dragon had been his then.

What had gone wrong?

The dagger struck him again, but it was far away, the pain a distant memory already.

 _Dragon, you will be mine again!_

"He's losing focus already. How pitiful."

 _You are weak._

 _That is your fault, dragon. Without me, you would not exist._

 _Without you, I would exist as I was meant to be._

 _No, this is what fate decreed._

 _Then why am I this way? What can you gain, mortal?_

 _Anything, if you will work with me._

 _You accept your gift as dragonborn?_

 _I see now that my loathing of dragons caused this. No more. You are me, not another individual, neither dragon or man._

 _Dragonborn._

 _Fate._

 _Decreed._

 _This._

A sharp jab of pain tore him from his thoughts.

Miraak met Hevnoraak's eyes.

The priest murmured, "Well, shall I cut your agonized eyes out next?"

"You will fail, Hevnoraak," Miraak rasped. "My destiny...is already determined...by fate."

 _My power, not something else's. I am dragonborn!_

He brought his thu'um to bear. "FUS RO DAH!"

Hevnoraak flew back, his weakened hold breaking. Time seemed to slow down.

Miraak rounded on the rival dragon.

"DIIV IIZ KREN!" He poured forth his dragon rage, one with it, a dragon, a man. The fire that now burned in him, the dovah, dulled his pain, numbed his wounds. "Hi engein wah zey!"

The dragon froze.

"KRUMAH!" Miraak yelled loudly. It wasn't a shout, and had none of the true power of a shout. But it definitely affected the beast. Dovahzul was a powerful language, spoken from the right mouth, capable of manipulating the world even ouside of a thu'um.

The dragon twisted its head into the ground, writhing its neck like a serpent.

Miraak drew his sword. The metal rang against the scabbard. He ran forward, all of his remaining physical strength in the action. He leapt upward. The blade rammed home. Dark blood flowed from the dragon's head. Miraak yanked it out. He plunged it down repeatedly, howling wildly. The fire fueled his limbs, his fury, his power.

The dragon thrashed, screeching. Miraak held on determinedly.

"NO!" Hevnoraak's voice cracked as it raised, as if he were incapable of more than his sinister whisper.

Miraak dug the blade in again. This time, the dragon's resistance threw him. He hit the ground, gasping in pain as his wounds were agitated.

However, the damage was done. Snow and blood flew when the wrym flopped onto the ground. Diiviizkren went still and his jaws hung agape. Miraak welcomed the soul coming to him with a sigh of relief. He could feel the pain lessening. He rose to his feet.

He turned towards his remaining enemy.

He saw Hevnoraak's hands raise.

A dark jet of power streamed forward and hit him. Miraak felt his focus slip and he couldn't think. Sharp stabs of pain jabbed here and there. The fire inside slipped away from him. A wound throbbed fiercely, and his sides were inflamed. He inhaled but felt like there were needles in his lungs.

"Welcome to my world," said the dragon priest, stomping forward. "Hevnoraak is my name, my right! I'll be sure to avenge Diiviizkren well!"

Miraak's stomach lurched. His side slammed into the white snow. He wasn't aware of how he'd fallen. Hevnoraak dropped over him like an eager crow before carrion.

"Miraak...I'll be sure to drag this out..."

Miraak couldn't see. Pressure crushed into his throat, and he choked. He could sense that faceless mask looking down at him from above, but the dark eyes behind it were wide. Ice cold fingers squeezed around his neck like a strangling serpent.

The former priest's hand fumbled in the snow. Sharp pain lanced through his shoulder. He flung his arm over as the blade ripped down it. If he'd been stronger, he'd have screamed. His hand seized that hilt. He pulled it free with a desperate surge of strength.

Hevnoraak howled as his own blade pierced his chest.

Miraak's last impressions were of the dragon priest snarling, "You are nothing, and I extinguish your life, traitor!"

Then, the dark knife was burrowed into Miraak's heart.

When consciousness slipped away, it was almost relief.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Diiv Iiz Kren(Dragon name) - Wyrm Ice Break_  
 _Thuri - My overlord_  
 _Sonaak - Priest_  
 _Dii fron krif nivokmun vax muz. Zu'u los nuk fah jul slen, sonaak. - My kin fight peasant traitor men. I am ready for man flesh, priest._  
 _Ol hi hind, Diiviizkren thuri. - As you wish, Diiviizkren my overlord._  
 _Ni dovahkiin, ni qahnaarin. - Not dragonborn, not vanquisher._  
 _Vax marzuue lig zey - Traitor screams please me_


	16. The Realizations

**A/N** \- _I've updated this chapter because I've edited the scene in the middle of if - the scene from Hevnoraak's point of view. Just wanted to give you a heads-up!_

 _Full details to all edits are in the Author's Notes of the next chapter!_

* * *

~D~

XVI. The Realizations

(Fin Emtiindde)

Miraak was in a dark, comforting place. In this place, there were no sensations of the agony that had rendered him helpless. The peaceful blackness, reminiscent of the sensation just before falling asleep - barely aware and relaxed, had taken the pain away. The numbing gloom silenced his senses and left him aware of little else. He welcomed the emptiness after the ferocious, painful fight. The abyss brought relief, the comfort of forgetting, thinking of nothing. Nothing existed besides the darkness.

Several moments passed before that sunk in.

He couldn't move, could barely think. His eyes wouldn't open, and his limbs were paralyzed. All he could do was lose himself in that black void.

 _Could it be death?_

The thought was so vague and wispy, he wasn't even aware of it as a thought. He felt it, like the thoughts that were never heard, within or without. That inner voice that never spoke but was always there had whispered this emptiness into existence without words.

 _I'm not ready to die...there's so much left... to do… Not after Diiviizkren's...demise..._

It was getting harder to focus on the small amount of awareness he had left. It was like swimming in a vast but empty sea, trying to grasp a small rope swaying in the water to save himself from drowning in the black. Another thought, stronger than his focus, pushed into his mind. He wasn't even sure if it was his own. A ship had sailed onto the empty ocean, its sails unrecognizable in his thoughtlessness.

 _Miraak...this is not the end...there's no hiding in death. Not yet…_

He felt the the fiery sensation first. The small flickering flame sprang to life in his soul, the memory of the dragon. The warmth built, refusing to be smothered and forgotten, but the seperation was gone. United, this was truly who he was. He felt the icy sensation next, like the winds of winter chilling him. Then, there was light creeping in behind it, bringing pain. The pain spread outward, pacing through arteries and veins with swiftness. The mixture was almost unfamiliar, but completely recognizable.

He inhaled, and it seared his lungs. Though the desire to cough was great, he couldn't summon the energy to manage that simple action. He still couldn't think. He had no immediate memory of his own voice. Just vague impressions.

His eyes tried to flutter open, but his retinas were impaled with the crimson light from the sky. He closed them, concentrating on breathing, in and out, in and out. If he could keep breathing, he would keep living. However, he was acutely aware at how dead his own body felt, chilled and weak on the ground, the small flame flickering in his soul unable to give him the energy to rise.

It was a long time before a ragged cough rang through the thin air. Miraak lay still, trying not to think of the increasing ache in his chest. He twitched his fingers, curling them, scooping a mound of snow under his gloves.

Slowly, struggling, he pushed his eyes open, blinking and squinting in the blood red light of the setting sun. Obviously, hours had passed, the clouds were gone, and the sky was scarlet. He lifted his head slightly, every ounce of his strength going into the simple movement. His eyes traveled down and fixed upon the black, jagged dagger resting in his chest.

He groaned and dropped his head back.

 _If I...if only...I could...reach it...pull it out...heal it…_

He coughed, tasting iron from his own blood.

 _How did I waken? How do I remain conscious?_

He tried to shift his left arm, but it was dead to him. Heavy, lifeless, and despite it's wounded appearance, he couldn't even feel the pain from it any longer. Blood had dried along his robes, another indication of the time that had passed.

 _This is it, then? Am I simply destined to drift in and out of consciousness before I finally die?... How unfair… Death... Death... I refuse it! I don't want it. I wasn't fated to die like this. I had a destiny. I have so much more to do..._

His eyes were growing sore from holding them open. He closed them. Perhaps the peaceful darkness would not be so terrible, if only it would end this miserable stillness, this helplessness. He couldn't regret when there was nothing, right?

 _How long will this pointless struggle last?_ he wondered. _Hours longer perhaps...or maybe mere minutes. It is impossible to tell._

A noise assaulted his ears. A distant crunching in the snow. Miraak wondered if it was an animal, drawn by the smell of blood. But that seemed odd, as the sound it caused was loud, almost deliberately so. Very few animals were so clumsy. It had to be boots. Maybe two or three pairs. Far off now, but growing louder, closer. People.

 _Go away...I'm busy trying to make my passing a bit less unpleasant._ He thought demandingly.

Was it Hevnoraak, come to finish his job? Then who were the others? If it was the priest of brutality, he hoped the sadistic man was tired of his game and would end it quickly. He was growing weary of the pain. Maybe they were bandits, investigating to see if there was loot to be taken from the aftermath of the battle. Frustration grabbed Miraak.

With another rasping cough, he opened his eyes reluctantly. He was slightly aware of the shapes in the red air, silhouettes against the sky. They were definitely human figures.

 _It's too much to keep fighting. I feel so powerless._

He saw a recognizable mask enter his askewed vision. It was not Hevnoraak's.

"Miraak...what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

 _Ahzidal… Then..._

"Look at this," said a woman's voice, belonging to Dukaan. "What a fool…" Her tone, almost impressed, did not match the statement. "It seems you were right, Ahzidal."

A third voice entered the atmosphere. Zahkriisos said, "except for how you declared him a frost-bitten skeleton."

"He may as well be dead, look at this," Ahzidal stated, gesturing at the dagger. "That's a pretty sure sign of what would have happened if we hadn't showed up. What may still happen."

"I think we can save him," Dukaan declared. "You of all people know to never underestimate the power of any magicka - even healing."

"I'm mostly worried it won't be worth the bother...but...since we're here..."

Their voices were beginning to lose meaning to the dragonborn.

 _Why did you follow?_ He wanted to ask...but he could not even speak. A rasping cough took the place of the question he longed to ask.

"Damn, that one's tough," Ahzidal muttered, kneeling down. His hand grasped the blade, and he yanked it back.

A strangled cry came from Miraak, followed by violent coughing.

"That was painful-sounding!" Ahzidal said. "I know we didn't exactly get off on the right foot before. Actually, we definitely didn't act very friendly towards each other. I'll admit to having a short temper at times...but I had thought to find you...maybe you'd understand if we...talked. Heh, not that that went so well. Anyways, the Dragon Order will burn us all alive, given the chance."

Miraak closed his eyes when one of the mages enacted their healing magicka upon the wound. Dukaan knelt beside him, her hands out and glowing a warm golden hue. The flesh and bones ached while mending, but he welcomed the change in the pain.

"What I really mean is that I see nothing to gain in us being enemies, Miraak." Ahzidal let his words fill the silence. "That _is_ a nasty weapon." He examined the weapon he'd seized. "Serrated, and with a hook right at the end. Perfectly lovely, is it not? That comes right out of Hevnoraak's personal armory, I'd bet. If it'd been a little to the left, you probably wouldn't have survived it for this long."

Dukaan focused on her spell, but nodded agreement. "Ahzidal is pleased to fill the silence, isn't he?" She asked no one.

Ahzidal said nothing.

Miraak was relieved when his next breath did not bring a bout of blood-filled coughs. Instead, his voice worked well enough to speak.

"Ahzidal... Dukaan… Zahkriisos... Why did you pursue me?"

"It was Ahzidal's idea," Dukaan responded. "He believed you would meet your demise out here."

With the major injury no longer mortal, Dukaan moved her spell to Miraak's arm.

"I suppose that corpse over there belongs to the esteemed dovah Diiviizkren?" Ahzidal said. "I can't believe you killed him by yourself with Hevnoraak opposing you as well. I suppose it's too much to hope that Hevnoraak is bleeding out somewhere too..."

"Doubtful." Miraak winced. "I managed to stab him, but his magicks...are strange. You cannot focus on the fight when they hit you. Certainly, he must have escaped."

"Pity...at least you're alive."

"I wonder why he did not ensure that I was dead before he left."

"I wonder that as well... Perhaps he's getting too old to tell?" Ahzidal snorted.

"Ridiculous."

"Maybe not. Everyone knows he's getting more and more irrational by the day... Which is saying something, considering he's never been what one would call...stable."

"I...cannot argue that."

Miraak felt the burning in the nerves of his hand that indicated they were no longer dead. Even though his entire body ached terribly, he welcomed the feeling of moving again. He grabbed Dukaan's glowing hand, pushing it away. She nodded understandingly, allowing her magicka to fade.

"I'll finish this..." Miraak's arms shook, but he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Then, his brow furrowed and a reluctance entered his voice. "...I...thank you." He looked at them each in turn. "I cannot think of another who would have helped me."

"I cannot either," Ahzidal smiled forcefully, his eyes burning. "You will survive to fight another day."

Dukaan added, "And then my work will be wasted."

"No," Miraak said. "I will not be so careless again... As I have been..." He looked at Ahzidal. "When you first spoke to me… I will admit to my foolishness then, as well. I understand that now..."

"You? Admitting to foolishness?"

Miraak glared, his maskless face displaying his displeasure. "I wish for you all to return with me to my temple. You were right. It is not up to me to choose whether you deserve power or not. Hermaeus Mora shall judge your worth, personally."

"Truly, you must have been knocked in the head during your fight." Ahzidal said, but his eyes seemed to gleam behind his mask in the setting sun's light. "So be it."

* * *

Through the evening, the dark-robed figure traipsed, the exhaustion burning in him. Hevnoraak also felt anger and frustration, along with his fatigue. Even though he'd been stronger than his quarry, he couldn't deny how tiring the fight had been. He also couldn't deny the advantage a younger man would have had - an advantage Miraak had shown during the fight, even if it had not been enough to save him. Still, there was boundless energy and strength in youth, however pathetically it was wasted. He felt none of this energy in himself anymore.

Those days were past, and it made him angry. And it was the type of anger that made his hands shake uncontrollably with the desire to kill and maim. Yes, he felt very angered. Though his magicka had healed his fortunately few injuries, he found himself very weary after the amount of power he'd put into the fight itself. He was not happy with his own state.

 _Miraak, the grasping child. Pathetic traitor...No, you almost tempted me to kill you too quickly. I needed to leave, but I know that you needed to die...but not too fast..._ _Who would help you now, so far from your home? Alone, bleeding, pained...when you wakened, it was not doubt to the fangs of the sabre cat buried in your neck, and your body far too lifeless to resist. And if you somehow managed to linger, then you will meet your end with the height of the moons._

He grunted, clenching his fists, wishing he could have witnessed it. Had he stayed...

 _No, I could not. The fight had taken it's toll. The traitor was indeed a child with an axe._

Still, he relished the memory of his enemy's screams. He would have lingered to ensure the final moments were filled with nothing but agony, but he needed to return to his temple. Exhausted, alone, he did not wish to tempt the wildlife beyond the body of the traitor.

It'd have to be enough, for now. He would continue his journey back to his temple and there... _there_ would be plenty of cries of agony to soothe his remaining anger. Defeating the traitor had brought him far less joy than he'd hoped and expected. That was because his true anger would never leave or be soothed; it was fixed upon the one enemy he could never conquer.

 _Death._

He refused to let the young walk on his corpse one day. He would not relent to death. He would find a way to _conquer_ it. He would not lose. Everyone feared him, and so would death.

 _One day._

* * *

Miraak's gaze stayed forward, and he focused on walking. He was sore in many places, but he let none of it show. Instead, he pushed on with a determined pace, trying to ignore his own weariness. To the side, Dukaan strode, easily keeping stride with him. Ahead, Ahzidal walked confidently. The news that Miraak was willing to let him speak with Hermaeus Mora had put him in an undeniably agreeable mood, his eagerness to return showing in his pace. At the back of the group, Zahkriisos kept an eye out for trouble.

They journeyed a different path than the way they'd come. Instead of heading north directly, they traveled northwest to avoid the toughest and steepest trails to travel. These roads were easier, and though they never spoke it, Miraak knew they'd decided based on his own condition. The thought alone was enough to annoy him, but he said nothing, and accepted it silently. He could find no energy or even a good reason to argue over it.

"Well, what were you thinking?" Ahzidal finally questioned, turning his head and slowing his pace. "Taking on Hevnoraak like that. Some would argue he is the most vicious of all the priests."

"I had not realized that the dragon would bring his pet priest," Miraak muttered. "If Diiviizkren had came alone, I would have had far less trouble. As it stands, I could never have imagined the dragon would let him ride it... Those creatures are too prideful… I still cannot figure it out. Riding dragons...is an odd notion in itself."

"These are strange times...but Diiviizkren has always been an oddity among the dovah," Dukaan said. "I suppose that's what brought him and Hevnoraak together. He was what I've heard people call 'serpentine'. Mostly flesh instead of scales, narrow, and not as worried about his pride, as with many dragons. More serpent than dovah."

"Fitting," Miraak said quietly. "Now he is dead."

"We've got _trouble_ ," Zahkriisos announced in a loud whisper. He indicated with his hand to his right as discretely as possible.

Miraak shifted his eyes, looking without turning his head. He could see the faintest outline of movement from that direction in the gathering darkness. Humanoid shapes shifted amidst the evergreen trunks. He heard the slightest sounds of footsteps, muffled in practice despite the crunchy snow. Still it was impossible to hide all noise, even to those experienced in such clandestine actions.

"Dishonorable bandits?" Dukaan whispered, tightening her grip upon her staff.

"Hard to say," Zahkriisos said. "It doesn't seem like bandits."

The four halted, staring into the woods.

"No," Ahzidal said, "they aren't bandits. This shall be interesting if nothing else."

Just then, six armored figures emerged from the trees, illuminated plainly by the rising moons. Miraak studied them carefully as the group fell into a natural defensive position. Their squarish armor had a faint golden-orange hue. Their helmets stood tall with high combs that came to a point, and the cheeks were lined like grates. Beneath the impressive combs was the faint impression of a contorted face of agony. The face was split by a line that brought the chin to a point, and connected the neck pieces together.

The armor suits with the twisted faces were chilling and equally intimidating. Miraak had never seen anything quite like it, but it comforted him slightly to realize that they were not as unnerving as Hevnoraak, even if he wasn't completely sure as to why. Their hands drew their swords, and Miraak knew he was not looking forward to a fight with these strange people. The soreness in his limbs felt even more pronounced.

The oddly-armored group stopped, silent, armed, and blocking their path. A tense silence fell over the area. The first approached them, dark golden eyes peering from underneath the contorted eyeholes of his helmet. Ahzidal stepped forward and began to speak to the warrior. He spoke in a contorted dialect with slight hesitancy, pausing occasionally as he searched for a word. His name, Ahzidal was spoken once, and it was the only thing Miraak could properly discern.

The other looked at him carefully, and then beyond him to the other. He spoke, interrupting, "I know your language, dragon-man. Quit vomiting over mine." His voice was harsh, grating.

Miraak realized what they were.

He'd only heard of stories of these people, tall tales he'd never put much belief in, but there was no mistaking it.

They were Dwemer... Stories claimed these were strange elven people who supposedly lived underneath the land, far different from the pale Falmer in the south, more reclusive and seemingly violent. The stories also claimed they were a rare sight indeed, and those who did see them usually did not live long to tell of it. Perhaps there was some truth to those stories, then.

"You are wounded," The Dwemer said, glancing at Miraak. The dragonborn was surprised at this blunt statement. "How long do you suspect to last in a fight, dragon-men, when you escort a burden?" His gaze was back on Ahzidal, calculating and cold.

The others stiffened. The Dwemer soldiers moved to surrounded them, shrugging their large shields into their hands.

"I am no burden," Miraak snapped, indignation rising in his gut. "I'm barely injured. I will be willing to prove it." He stood straighter, and even though his chest burned in agony, he hid it.

"Miraak," Ahzidal said in a soft tone. "This would be an example of a time _not_ to act rashly." He turned back to the Dwemer that had approached them. "Hunter-Captain, let us explain."

"You are in our territory, human. I will answer that with proper punishment, as is fair."

"True, but it is merely chance we find ourselves here. After the fight, we came this way to ease our journey. Even so, I-"

"Good excuse, human. What were you fighting?"

Ahzidal shifted slightly, "Well, _I_ wasn't...but my brash companion here was fighting a dragon and a dragon-man at once."

"Indeed...it was a good fight then?"

"I suspect so… Yes..."

The elf's eyes lit up a little. "This man has slain a dragon alone."

"I did," Miraak declared. Ahzidal glared at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the elf.

"Look, he doesn't have a clue abo-"

The Dwemer sighed, "you are Ahzidal, you say?"

"Yes..."

"Why are you killing dragons, Ahzidal?...or rather, your...companion."

"We turned on the dragons. We no longer worship the beasts of the sky."

The Dwemer's voice grew impressed, "That is new to me. Humans are finally understanding that there is more to life than serving those beasts?"

"Yes," Miraak said. He stepped forward. "There is d-"

"I did not speak to you, injured-one!" snapped the Dwemer harshly. He looked at them more carefully now. "Still, this is fascinating. But perhaps you lie. But what to gain? I never understood your kind," the elf admitted. "Regardless of what you have done, you are still trespassers."

"Does the name Embittered-Destroyer mean anything to you?" Ahzidal said. "My name doesn't translate as such in dwemeris, but in mine, that is what it means."

"Ah," the Dwemer said. "I see. Yes. I remember now. The scholars of Nchardek allowed you to study with them for a time. Your intuitiveness impressed them, did it not?"

"It did," Ahzidal was beginning to relax. "As such, I am not trespassing. I was guaranteed safe passage through Dwemer territory should the need arise. We are evading danger this way, and causing no harm...my companions, if I should ever have any, too were granted safe passage."

The elf sheathed his weapon. The others followed suit. Finally, the Dwemer warriors moved out of attack position. Miraak felt his tension easing.

"Hurry, Embittered-Destroyer," said the Dwemer. "Tell any other patrols you may meet that Captain Nchuvin gave you permission. They will know it is truth, for you would not know my true name without having spoken to one of us. However, do not let me catch your group beyond the old river passes."

"Thank you, Captain Nchuvin."

Carefully, the group moved. The Dwemer warriors stood back, eyeing them with a coldness that made it seem the suits of armor were all that stood in their places, statues waiting for orders. The humans felt the silent gazes on their back as they walked on. Miraak still imagined their chilly gazes long after they had left them behind. The trees around them seemed full of uncertainty.

At least an hour passed before the group began speaking again.

A thought entered Miraak's mind and his gaze was thoughtful. "They were the ones responsible for killing that bandit leader." He said. "When I was traveling to the Summit, I came across a bandit camp. When I reached their leader's tent, he'd already been killed with a bolt. It had to be the Dwemer. The bolt was the same metal as their armor and weapons... It is interesting... You studied with them, Ahzidal?"

"Friendly bunch," muttered the fire mage in response. "You never know if they're going to randomly stab you or not...and they speak of logic like it's their way of life." He shook his head. "Don't tell them this, but I don't think they truly know how logic works...sometimes."

"For once," Dukaan said. "You have successfully doused the fires of a fight instead of raising them."

"Didn't know it was possible, did you?" Ahzidal asked wryly.

"I didn't," said Zahkriisos.

"What do you think of that Miraak? If not for me, you probably would have died."

"That is unlikely, Ahzidal...still, I thank you for stopping a fight. It would have been most unpleasant."

"Yes, don't mention it... Whatever else happens to you Miraak, be thankful you did not meet a Dwemer in a fight."

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ \- _I don't think there's any Dovahzul in this chapter._

 _So, about the Dwemer... I couldn't resist trying my hand at writing them, seeing as they were still alive in the Merethic Era...so they got a role in this story! But I digress. I want to describe this story's situation a bit, in case you're curious._

 _This story has been planned out, outlined, and a majority of the rough draft is already written. It has three parts, all encompassing a different arc of Miraak's life...and other things...well, I don't want to spoil anything. Part one, this one, ends with its final chapter at 28. Part two ends at somewhere around chapter 40(I'm not completely sure of this yet, as I've recently made a decision in my story that caused me to change some things). I do not yet know how many chapters part three will have, since I have not finished writing it yet. I will continue posting every three days, unless there is a hiatus for any reason._

 _I could have broken this story into three individuals, but I decided against that. This is because I have tried that with another story on this site, and wasn't pleased with the overall result. I feel this story works best as a whole._


	17. The Acolyte Priests

**A/N** - _This a little heads-up for a recent change in the story itself._

 _Due to a reader pointing out a slight OOC goof on my part for Hevnoraak, and another confirming it, I've done some re-working on the story. The full details of everything will be at the end of this chapter, so as not to spoil it. The only thing I've changed in the previous chapter was the small scene about halfway through with Hevnoraak's musings. Feel free to go back and read the changes if you want to! Otherwise, you'll just have to wait until the end of this chapter for the details, which will have spoilers for this chapter if you're thinking of skipping ahead to read it first. XD._

 _Enjoy the new chapter!_

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.

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~D~

XVII. The Acolyte Priests

(Faal Kiibokaar Sonaakke)

The moons were high in the sky now, their light almost bright enough to match the glare from the crackling campfire. The warm flames outlined the four in its luminance, crackling, shifting. Miraak stared into them, his thoughts distracted with the day's events. Now that there was a moment to sit and think, his mind forced him to face the reality of what had happened; he'd very nearly died. He was unsure of why Hevnoraak had not seen to his death. It was odd to think that the man might take _any_ chance of his escape.

Miraak became aware of the gaze of one of the others upon him. He turned his head to meet it.

Dukaan glared at him from where she sat upon a small log, her pack slung across one of its dead branches.

"Look," she said, terse. "I have enough magicka to finish healing your wounds. You don't need to be stubborn about it."

Miraak looked at her in disbelief. "This again? You are very adamant, for whatever reason. My injuries are my concern now and no longer yours."

That should have been the end of it, but Dukaan disagreed.

"I took it upon myself to heal them," she declared, judgment upon her brow. "That makes them still very much my concern."

"I will not die from them. In fact, I could finish healing them myself!"

"Alright, let us behold your power." Dukaan folded her arms. "Show us the bright, healing light!"

"I will let these injuries finish healing on their own!" Miraak grew frustrated. "Leave it alone, Dukaan. It is a small matter. I am in no more danger, why should I bother with wasting my energy on it?"

"Why shouldn't you? Wouldn't you rather be tired than in pain?"

Ahzidal made an exasperated noise, "forget it, Dukaan." He said. "Even you should know he won't stop being a stubborn fool just because you ask it."

"It's not just that," she insisted. "I know that Hevnoraak is cunning and dangerous. What if the wounds are more serious than we thought. I believe we should at least check them again."

"No," Miraak said.

"Fine," Dukaan hissed. She stood up, stalking from the camp they'd made. "I'll be back."

Zahkriisos chuckled slightly. He glanced at Ahzidal, who returned the look. They both looked away. Miraak was instantly suspicious. It showed on his face.

"Is there something you want to say?" He asked coldly, brows furrowed.

"No, not really," Ahzidal said.

"Well, actually," Zahkriisos said, " _I do_."

"What?" Miraak demanded.

"Well, I want to say that you are a fool, and leave it at that..."

Miraak hissed in frustration. "I am done trying to make sense of this."

When Dukaan returned, she looked at none of them and retook her seat, staring into the campfire, unmasked face thoughtful. Miraak could see the flames burning in her eyes, a reflection. He could almost imagine that her own anger had conjured them there. That seemed odd, however, as her preferred element was ice. He imagined, rather, that her anger would be shown as a blizzard, not a flame.

"It's midnight," Dukaan said, glancing up at the moons. "I-"

The shape of her face wavered oddly, and her voice stopped. Miraak squinted. The sharp pain that struck him was completely unexpected. He hissed, doubling forward. The fiery needles seemed to stab him from within, prickling throughout his being. Then the discomfort doubled, turning into a full force gale of agony. He cried out, twisting against it.

The others moved, their faces displaying surprise. Dukaan reached Miraak first. He lay upon the ground within moments, thrashing in torment.

"I should have anticipated this!" she snapped, dropping to the ground beside him.

"What is this?!" Snapped Zahkriisos, looking at the ice mage in alarm.

"Moonsbane," she responded quickly. "Rare plant. Poison resides in the blood until triggered by the high point of the moon twins, Rilahk and Nahkorah." She looked up at the others. "We will not find Moonsbane this far north, unfortunately. I cannot make a proper antidote..."

"He cannot die!" Ahzidal snarled. "Not after the agreement. Not after what we've done to save his sorry hide!"

Dukaan stood, her face hard and chipped, like ice. She crossed to her pack hooked on the log, throwing the flap open. She pulled out an assortment of ingredients. A small, blue flower sat in her hands. She placed it upon a dark green leaf, folding it.

"Ahzidal," the ice mage said, "We have ten minutes, at the very least, though probably closer to half an hour; Hevnoraak would not want his passing to be so quick or easy." She seized a small, metal cup, dropping the ingredients she clasped within.

Miraak lay upon the ground and muttered, sweat heavy upon his forehead. His face had gone pale, bloodless. His eyes fluttered open and close, unseeing. Though his movements had slowed, his discomfort was apparent in the occasional twitch and groan of pain.

Zahkriisos looked at him more closely, then back at the others. "Moonsbane. Now that you mention it... I've heard of the effects of it before..." He trailed off.

Ahzidal seized Dukaan's hand, forcing her to stop her work and meet his gaze. "Can we save him or not?" He demanded in anger.

"I do not know if he will survive this night," she admitted. "But I am going to do what I can to give him another chance. I am going to _try_. Now, let me do what needs to be done, unless you really _do_ want him to die."

Ahzidal backed off, dropping to a sitting position upon the log. Dukaan raised the cup, dropping something else within. She hooked it upon a metal rod, dripping water from her waterskin into the cup. After a moment, she swirled the contents, holding it to the flame. Her face tensed in concentration.

"Ten minutes," she said. "Do not disturb me until then."

Zahkriisos stared at Miraak for a moment, and then looked skyward, brow furrowed. The minutes passed slowly, undeniably dragging time behind it, as though it were reluctant to part from the past. They were ten minutes that felt like hours.

Miraak opened his eyes, locking upon the dizzying lights far above. They swirled, shifting. The sharp, jagged, burning pain stabbed at him, but it felt like it came from a great distance, perhaps from the deepest pits of Oblivion. In the confused jumble of thoughts, he was aware of how the light of his pain could not match that of the world above him. The heavens were gorgeous so late, branding his mind in a way he'd never experienced. There was crushing pain, but also a light brightness, carving his vision anew.

Her face appeared within its radius, stern, collective, certain. He did not recognize her, for there were mountains between them, but she seemed familiar. He felt that he must have seen her features upon the moon, if not the stars, once. Maybe she'd been wrought to life by a churning blizzard, born of its will. She was cold, he knew, for her eyes were blooming with ice, refusing any warmth. There were traces of snow in her skin.

"Winter..." he murmured. He knew who she was.

Winter.

"Miraak..." her voice came from beneath the earth, but also the above heavens. "Drink this..."

There was something she offered, something wispy and ephemeral. It dangled in the air, the ghost of a promise. He smiled faintly at it.

"You offer...snow, Winter?" He whispered, then gasped at a sharp jab in his skull that was gone before he could focus upon it.

"What's he saying?" Something else, duller and warmer than Winter, said.

"Nothing...he's delirious," Winter replied. "Drink, Miraak."

The snow was cold upon his lips, but didn't taste or feel like snow. It felt too warm to be snow, and too cold to be anything else. The bitter sting upon his tongue didn't surprise him, even though his throat burned in the ice cold feeling. He closed his eyes, swallowing the oddity offered to him.

Dukaan stood up, shaking her head, "he smiled... I've never seen him smile before." She clutched the now-empty cup, a little surprised at how smoothly the administration of her potion had gone.

"Smiling?" Ahzidal responded. "Miraak doesn't smile... Definitely delirious. What are the chances of survival?"

"You're fixated on his probability of seeing the sunrise," She said, returning to her pack. She rinsed the cup with some water, pushing it back into the bag. She pulled the string, sealing it.

"Well, this is going to have a rather large impact on what we do next, don't you think?" He returned.

"Regardless of whether he lives or not, we continue to oppose the dragons."

"From where?"

"From wherever is best."

"Just answer the original question, and stop being so stubborn!"

She looked at his annoyed face, "I do not know. The best I could create was a common antidote... The rest is up to fate."

They fell into silence. For a while, each was lost to their own thoughts.

Dukaan stood and moved to sit by Zahkriisos and Miraak, her gaze upon the poisoned man. He obviously slumbered, an odd look of peace up his face, his chest rising and falling steadily. She nodded slowly. If nothing else, he was peaceful. If Hevnoraak had desired a nasty end for the dragonborn, he would not have it tonight...perhaps not ever.

 _Winter...that's what he said. I wonder why..._

* * *

Dukaan started to the stirrings she had heard. Her gaze snapped past the dying fire to the sky, which was brightening. Daylight was approaching. Ahzidal still looked into the embers of the once-burning flame, silent. Zahkriisos had fallen asleep close the fire, his head upon his own bag. She heard the stirrings again. Her scrutiny followed them to land upon Miraak, his eyes open, seeing. Their gazes locked again.

"So fate decided that you will witness this sunrise, after all..."

"Poison... I am...not surprised..." Miraak murmured. "Hevnoraak must have left, knowing that if I somehow survived the injuries, the poison would kill me... He did not anticipate that'd I'd have help from allies."

"I could not make a proper antidote, as I did not have the plant he poisoned you with," Dukaan explained. "However, I wondered if your dragon's blood might give you some edge over the moonsbane, as dragons are resistant to poisoning. I hoped that if I could...calm the deadly mixture in your veins, it would allow you to survive it."

"Thank you...Dukaan."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"What is winter to you?" Dukaan demanded abruptly.

"Winter?"

"Yes..."

"What an odd question."

"Answer it."

"Winter is...raw, unforgiving." His face grew thoughtful. "It is a determining factor of fate, forcing one to be at their strongest... It will kill the weak, cripple the strong. However, those with intelligence and strength can find a way to thrive. Winter will only pass by the strongest, but will never leave them unscathed, assuming one does not have shelter."

"I see." Dukaan stood.

He added, "Winter is honorable."

She looked at him, eyes narrowed.

"What is the purpose of this odd question?" Miraak asked, scowling faintly.

"You're awake and alive, and if you can walk, I suggest we move before some other ill omen strikes us." She ignored his question.

"Yes," Ahzidal said, seeming to snap from his thoughts. "I wish to be several miles from this place...I hate lingering this close to Dwemer territory."

Miraak sat up, massaging his temples. There was a dull ache in the base of his skull, and there were the faintest pinpricks of pain at the edges of his nerves, but he felt strangely rested. He knew that despite his poisoning, he'd been sleeping through most of its lingering effects, gathering strength.

 _I've not slept so soundly in a long while... Perhaps it had something to do with the antidote_.

"Miraak, give Zahkriisos a kick for me, will you?" Ahzidal said. "We need to pack up, and he's not going to get out of that."

"You want me to kick him?" responded the dragonborn in bewilderment. "I think a sufficient shake will do the trick."

"Whatever, just wake him."

Miraak bent to shake the lightning mage's shoulder. Dukaan kicked the ashes of the campfire away, knocking snow over the faintly glowing embers afterwards. Zahkriisos slowly gathered his stuff, blinking sleepiness from his eyes. Ahzidal looked over the few supplies he had within his own bag, nodding before closing it.

"At noon, we'll get some decent rest," he decided, grabbing his staff and letting his magicka brighten it for a moment. It faded. "Maybe go hunting so we don't get hunger-fatigue..."

The group stood still for a moment, then, as if on a silent command, sat forward on their path.

"Dukaan," Miraak said after they'd walked for a few moments.

"Yes?" She returned, staring straight ahead.

"I will guess that you put an ingredient into the antidote that gave it a sleeping-drought quality."

"A faint one," she said.

"Why?"

"Hevnoraak wanted you thrashing right up to the end. If you were to die, I wanted to deprive him of any victory, however small. You would have died in peace."

"But why would you _care_ if he succeeded?"

"Hevnoraak is a monster...dishonorable."

Miraak glared, "Hevnoraak would never have known if I went in peace... Why bother?"

She snapped, "because I do not care what he knows! Only what I do!"

The dragonborn's gaze twisted in an odd expression. "You do not care what he would have _thought_ happened... And you could have lied about how peaceful my passing was, as you just lied to me... Tell me the truth."

She stared at him. "Foolish man!" She snarled and stomped ahead.

* * *

"Dukaan, by the lands of Keizaal, why are you still angry with me?" Miraak asked, genuinely curious. He couldn't understand it.

"I am not," she defended.

"Yet, your mostly cold silence for the past three days says otherwise."

"Perhaps your perception is off."

"My perception is not _off_. Fine, if you do not wish to call it anger, what then?"

Ahzidal snorted.

Dukaan frowned under her mask. "I call it being disinterested in conversation. Pointless rambling is uninteresting to me."

"You've never had a problem with _'pointless rambling'_ before!"

Zahkriisos coughed loudly.

"What in Oblivion is your problem, Zahkriisos?" Miraak snapped at the priest behind him.

"Nothing... Nothing..."

Miraak gave up, leaving the trio as a strange sort of mystery in his presence. Fine, if they wished to act as such, he'd simply not bother to give them his ear. He'd never interacted with people this strange before, and it left him wondering just what had happened. Dukaan's anger was obvious, and yet she denied it, just as she'd lied for her reasons for putting the sleeping drought within the potion.

He'd wondered, if perhaps she'd thought rest would help him recover. Then again, with the amount of vitriol she directed at him, he was beginning to think that she'd been trying to ease the poison's deadly properties and had failed. Still, considering her work at healing him, that seemed unlikely. Besides, she was not so incompetent as to fail if she truly wished him harm in such a manner.

 _Perhaps, once I've rested and recovered_ properly _, I will understand what has happened._

It was with this moody silence the group reached the temple approximately two hours later. Miraak increased his stride and surged ahead of the others. He barely acknowledged his guards upon reaching the doors. Their faces registered mild shock at his state, maskless and ragged robes coated with dried blood. He swept past them in utter silence, looking straight ahead, even when they failed to greet him correctly.

Inside, he was glad to be back within the welcoming darkness of his temple. He swept down the hallway, his tattered robes flowing behind him. He traipsed down the main hall, his footsteps ringing. Through another tunnel, he nearly bumped into Kreniik.

"Lord Miraak!" He exclaimed, wide-eyed behind his mask. "What happened!?"

"I killed a dragon, Kreniik. Do I have to vocalize the painfully-obvious?"

"Uh, no, my lord...n-not at all!" He stammered.

"Where are you going?"

"I was just going to induct the newest group of initia-uh, I mean, defects..." He trailed off, fidgeting.

"Very well...when you get the chance, tell the others of what has occured."

Kreniik's eyes brightened. "You mean... Well, what dragon did you slay, Lord Miraak?"

"Diiviizkren lays dead in the snow, his bones the only reminder he once existed, Kreniik."

"Whoa..." muttered his follower in awe. "...it...will be done, my lord."

Kreniik watched the dragonborn walk on, followed by his three strange compatriots. He stared at their backs. He knew Diiviizkren had been one of the most undisputed dragons of cunning and skill. It was well known the serpent-dragon was more dangerous for it than he'd ever been in strength.

 _Lord Miraak is truly invincible, isn't he? He outwitted even Diiviizkren. He's going to kill all of the tyrant dragons, even Alduin... I'm glad I chose to stay here._

With a stab of pride, the man turned and made for the main hallway. Today would be glorious indeed. He couldn't wait for the expressions of the others when they heard.

 _And just wait until they realize Lord Miraak chose to impart the news to me first,_ he thought smugly.

* * *

The shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, swaying to a silent, chaotic tune. Upon the table sat the source of light, wax dripping down the candle's sides. The small light illuminated those gathered around the table, two men and a woman waiting patiently. There was a creak, and the nearby door swung open, drawing their gazes to it. A man walked into the room, holding something in his hand.

He moved slowly, his fingers gripping his prize. There was the faintest hint of reluctance in his stride, keeping his movements sedate and deliberate. He moved to the table, holding the object tightly. He lowered the black book upon the table, allowing the tome to sit gently upon its surface, well away from the spilled wax.

Miraak looked at the others as he placed the book. Their gazes were drawn to its dark cover, staring at it intently.

The dark magicka resonated from the book, powerful, drifting off in waves of energy. All of the others, being mages of high skill, could sense it there. Miraak was conscious of Ahzidal leaning even closer.

The tome was dark...dangerous, alluring in every way, temptation incarnate. That sense of need filled all who lay eyes upon the book. The very object itself sparked even the faintest embers of curiosity and turned them into a raging inferno of need - the need to discover, to learn, to gain, to be powerful.

"This is what I discovered...it has...changed much," Miraak finally spoke in the silence.

Subconsciously, he traced the symbol upon its cover before fully releasing his grip upon it.

Dukaan watched closely. "As if the importance of my path were nothing...I find myself once again drawn to that which also strengthens my namesake...Dukaan." She adjusted her mask. "Dishonor."

Zahkriisos spoke, voice higher in tone than usual. "I want only the power to take any foe. I'm more than ready. I may not approve so much of this dark spirit, but you have shown me that following the dovah was a false path, where others are satisfied to walk it blindly. If there are no gods, then there is no wrong...not even in this daedra."

He could see their intentment upon the tome, so he changed the subject, "It is my suggestion that we stay here in the north," Miraak stated, thinking of what had happened. It didn't take long before his mind reviewed his most recent troubles. Of everything, Hevnoraak's strange powers troubled him. He couldn't see himself going into another fight with the other without more knowledge. Knowledge only his mentor, Hermaeus Mora, could give him.

He continued, "We must consolidate our strength, for many will oppose us."

"Yes, yes," said Ahzidal. "Let's hurry it up!" His impatience was starting to show again.

"As you wish," Miraak said.

He shook his head, wishing he still had his mask. He felt awfully exposed without its power and cover, acutely aware of the others able to use theirs. The mask had enhanced who he was, and without it, he was unbalanced. He didn't know enough about enchanting to replace it himself... But that problem could wait.

"Now listen closely." He spoke in a low tone, dragging himself away his musings. "Just open the book, and read. You'll find yourself within Hermaeus Mora's realm soon enough."

The others nodded.

"Alright," Miraak said. "Let us begin. Ahzidal...since you are so eager."

The other nodded.

One by one, the former dragon priests took their turns committing what would have been a very foul deed for those serving the Dragon Order. The reading was odd to them, foreign where it was regular to Miraak. Because of this, he chose to read last, entering the darkness to find himself in the realm of Hermaeus Mora. He was not surprised to the other's reactions to Apocrypha.

Ahzidal stepped back, turning upon his heel, examining the emerald sky, gaze raking over the fluttering books, the towering arches of paper, and the undulating tentacles in the sea of green. He spread his arms, chuckling a little. He spun again, a mixture of disbelief and amazement within him.

"Incredible!" He exclaimed. "Very incredible!"

Zahkriisos also studied the strange world. He paced along the platform, gazing at the architecture of twisting metal below his feet. He peered over the edge of the summit where they stood, his reaction far more calm than Ahzidal's. Finally, he turned to Miraak.

"This is his realm?"

"Yes."

Dukaan remained still, "this place is full of darkness," she muttered. She had her hands slightly tensed, as though ready for a fight.

The sky shifted, and all felt the looming and overbearing presence of the master of the realm, like the sensation of dark storm clouds blotting out the sky in Mundus. Hermaeus Mora appeared above them. His large eye locked upon them, along with all of his smaller, less-noticeable ones. His tentacles shifted lazily in the green sky.

Miraak greeted him, "Hermaeus Mora. Mentor."

"Miraak..." Came the ponderous response. "You have brought many hungry minds into my domain. Seekers after knowledge..." His voice was soft, almost just beyond hearing, but every word was crystal clear, ringing throughout the realm's atmosphere.

Ahzidal spoke. "So it is true," he said. "You grant knowledge...power...perfection!" His eyes glinted.

"I do not grant it freely, mage of fire." The daedra said.

Dukaan walked until she stood beside Ahzidal stiffly. "Tell me what you are," she demanded.

 _Here it comes..._ Miraak thought.

The daedra responded just as he expected. "I am Hermaeus Mora! I am master of the tides of fate, keeper of the secrets of knowledge, and the lord of Apocrypha, the very place you find yourself!"

Miraak glanced at them, "Teacher, I do not know the specifics of what my allies seek, but I-"

"I know what you search for, Miraak. You seek...the edge over your foes...as always..."

Miraak remembered then that this daedra had been the very one to suggest he would be ready to face Diiviizkren. He remembered how poorly that had almost gone. Had he not found the balance between himself and his dragon soul, then he would certainly have failed to kill the dragon, and he would have died.

 _Just how much of destiny can this 'master of fate' truly see?_

If he truly had known what had been about to happen, why had he not suggested giving Miraak the time required to gain the greatest advantage? Surely, killing both Diiviizkren and Hevnoraak in the same fight would have given him the edge he sorely needed against the Dragon Order. Had Miraak known that Hevnoraak would oppose him, had he known he'd very nearly die, not just once, but many times, he would have waited and gained more strength.

Miraak said, "You did not warn me of the trouble I would encounter, even though you first suggested I was ready."

The large eye blinked slowly.

The dragonborn continued. "Had you given me the proper time and council, I would have killed both Hevnoraak and the dragon in that fight."

Dukaan looked at Miraak, eyes wide under her mask.

The daedra's voice was a mere whisper, "you...cannot see fate, Miraak, only guess... Do not presume to know what would have happened." There was a menacing under-quality to his tone. Then, that tone eased. "Besides...there are many paths that may happen in the future...it is _you_ who walks them."

Miraak looked down, saying nothing.

Mora continued, "The power that you require to give you the edge you need...the answers to such shall be revealed in a book...much like the one you've used to mentally enter my realm. The book is Epistolary Acumen, by title...but so much more than what that title suggests."

Miraak responded, "I see."

"As...for your...companions... I can point them to the knowledge they also seek... The knowledge that will give them the power they desire so... _dearly_."

"You will?" asked Ahzidal, eager. If he'd had any caution before, it was completely gone now.

"There is a condition first." Mora said softly.

"Let us here it," Dukaan said. "Let us see if our souls are the price."

"Nothing so dramatic, I assure you... All I ask is that you spread my influence in Tamriel... I grow tired of the mortal world forgetting my name... You will remind them...and you will do so under the guidance of my servant, Miraak. Agree to this, and the knowledge you seek...shall be yours."

Miraak looked at them keenly. _Will they be willing to follow me?_ He wondered. It was not lost on him that the terms of their agreement were far different than his own. He said nothing, knowing he was neither ready nor willing to broach the subject yet, if ever.

"I accept," Ahzidal said. "But I expect your servant to respect us."

"That is...for Miraak...to decide." The daedra almost sounded amused.

"Have I not shown you enough respect, thus far?" Miraak shot at the fire mage.

"I accept, as well," Zahkriisos said, before Ahzidal could respond. "I think your servant has proven his worth."

"As do I," Dukaan said. "It is not unreasonable."

Before they could say anything more, the daedra broke in with his deep voice.

"Then you shall be the acolyte priests of my champion! Within my realm, each of you will search out a book. Zahkriisos, seek the tome... _Winds of Change_... Dukaan, seek the tome...S _allow Regent_... Ahzidal, seek the tome... _Filament and Filigree_... These books...their counterparts in the world have long since been destroyed and lost. When you have taken these books from Apocrypha, as I allow, you will bring them back to Tamriel, physically. Their presence will not be so easily lost, as was once desired."

"It will be done," Miraak said, beginning to feel the infectious eagerness they all felt.

"To work, then..." Hermaeus Mora said, fading from view. "This shall prove most interesting,"

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Rilahk and Nahkorah - Masser and Secunda(the twin moons of Tamriel)_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

 **A/N** \- _So, I promised to go over all that I'd changed. Here's the layout -_

 _I altered Hevnoraak's scene in the last chapter. If you didn't read it, the things I changed were that he left Miraak for dead on purpose(instead of missing the angle with his stab), and the small hint that he'd poisoned him. This was the product I came up with after discussing changes with Aurora Nova and EricLightscythe, so I'd like to thank them for their help/ideas/input. I'm very pleased with the results, and I hope you are too! :)_

 _Speaking of poison, I also want to say that I completely made moonsbane up. I hope that wasn't too out of place. Seeing as this takes place over four thousand years(at least) before the time of Skyrim, who's to say there aren't other plants, other poisons? And maybe because it's rare, it died out..._

 _I also made a slight change in the time frame, to make sure the beginning of this chapter landed on midnight realistically. Just a minor thing, really._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	18. Trials and Illusions

~D~

XVIII. Trials and Illusions

(Untakke ahrk Fiikathhe)

Dukaan trekked patiently, following the odd, floating _thing_ before her. No creature, whatever place it thrived, should appear so miserable and _distorted_. Rough hair covered its body and looked as coarse as a mammoth's hide, but had the hue of Apocrypha's strange waters. Several human-like, pale-white arms with unnaturally long fingers protruded from what must have been its torso. The 'face' appeared to be a lump of compressed flesh, creating a star-shaped pattern upon the hairy body with no neck. A mouth of spiny teeth resided where a stomach should have been, since she compared the creature to a human.

She'd never seen anything quite so odd as this. True, there was Hermaeus Mora, but even his form seemed to fit him, to prove his darkness and cunning. This hairy Apocrypha denizen looked as though it'd fall apart if it were hit hard enough - as if its hair were holding all of its lumpy, misshapen flesh together.

 _Seekers,_ Miraak had told them when the creatures had appeared upon his summons. Each of the four former dragon priests had been lead off through the realm following a 'seeker', looking for what they sought, alone.

Regardless, Dukaan trusted none of what she saw, whether the others did or not. This world was surely treacherous, being that it was where the daedra resided. She silently acknowledged that she knew little of Oblivion and its inhabitants, and that put her on edge. She didn't like potential enemies that she was unsure of how to measure. On the other hand, her deal with the daedra should have given her confidence; these... _things_ would not attack, and neither should anything else.

But the deal she had made for the impending knowledge bothered her, even though the terms had been much lighter than she had expected, being that they were merely expected to follow Miraak.

 _He must be insufferably pleased with himself._

Truthfully, she had expected that her, Ahzidal, and Zahkriisos would ally with Miraak eventually, as his goals were very straightforward: defeat the dragons. All of their goals were the same. From her, that sense of honor she held demanded it be so. It demanded that she make the dovah face the lies they'd been giving their servants for so long that no one even remembered just when they had begun.

No, her discomfort did not lay in the terms of the deal. It came from dealing with the daedra itself, no matter the terms. What mattered was that she had _made_ this deal, this contract. She would not forget what she had done. Was it not dishonorable to consort with something so dark in such a manner? But she was already dishonor, so did it matter?

 _Despite my dishonor, I wish to remember my former namesake… What are we without honor?_

The seeker stopped, hovering faintly before a long bookcase filled with tattered tomes and old scrolls. She stepped forward, examining the parchments, but the writing on them was unfamiliar. Almost instinctively, she knew that this was not the knowledge she was searching out.

"Where is this knowledge, dark creature?" She demanded.

Silent, the seeker faded from view, and she stood there alone.

Dukaan exhaled sharply, annoyance pricking at her. "What am I searching for?"

The bookcase rattled and shifted. It vibrated, old tomes on its shelf slipping and falling to thud upon the floor. Watching, she took a step back, eyeing the movements in distrust. The set of shelves swung outward, revealing a small chamber within, circular in shape. It shifted then, moving away from her, a hallway leading to it had just formed. She hesitated, trying to determine why she must walk this hallway first. Surely it would not have appeared if it were not some sort of test.

She felt a chilly sensation, a heavy presence in the air.

Hermaeus Mora's voice was disembodied, but it spoke softly, everywhere, but seeming to originate from the room. "Dukaan... _Dishonor_...is the fate you chose for yourself…"

"It was inevitable," Dukaan responded. "I was put into the position to become this."

"Destiny is not so solid, as you well know... That is what Miraak does not know...that one little action could completely destroy or shape parts of the future..."

Dukaan proceeded down the chamber, caution in her stride. "Then already, you target his weaknesses…as you will target all of ours."

"You cannot learn...grow...or obtain what you seek...without being challenged. I will target a weakness, so that you may strengthen it in turn."

At the end of the chamber, sat a book upon a stand. She knew, inwardly, that this was the tome she had been tasked to reach.

The daedra's voice continued. "As you know...no knowledge comes without a price. This tome has what you seek, but you cannot reach it unless you find the balance you've been seeking in honor...or dishonor...you walk two worlds, but must choose _one_."

Dukaan could feel the heavy presence of the daedra fade slightly, as if it were backing off, allowing her to make a decision. She looked forward, brow scrunched under her mask, realizing something; the tome was not the only object there. Behind the stand on which it sat, rested a creature about the size of a large deer. It appeared fragile, thin and scaly, curled up, its bony white ridges evident through greenish, transparent flesh. She could see a faint heart under its ribs, beating slowly and gently within it. Small, almost delicate claws hooked into the metal grate in the floor under it. She could see a tail wrapped around its form and small ridges of flesh and bone where its shoulders seemed to be.

"What is this new creature?" Dukaan muttered, scowling. She was disturbed, watching it, unable to pinpoint why. "Is it another of those distorted reflections that linger in this world of secrets too dark?"

Mora responded quietly, his voice sounding far away, "This... _creature_...is a secret of the dovah…the only one greater than knowing they can die permanently… Though once the dovah embraced immortality and remembered their origins, that is truth no longer... When they changed, they embraced mortality...death...rebirth, as with many mortals. When they embraced mortality, they required...offspring to replace their dwindling numbers. That is why they can fall…. This is that secret. A child of the dragons. It represents all that you face, the promise of the tyrants you once served."

She looked upon the creature, realization dawning on her

"Kill it," Hermaeus Mora said, his voice full of a strange type of victorious amusement. "And the knowledge is yours… Dishonor... Leave, allow it to live, and you will have failed to gain the knowledge. You will be unable to rise to the dragons and the task you have set before yourself, unable to face what you have become… Honor... You know the path that will sustain you…"

And Hermaeus Mora's presence around her faded altogether.

She moved to see the dragon better. It seemed to be sleeping, and she now realized the ridges on its shoulders would be wings one day. One day, it would use them to lift into the air, soaring high above the world. One day, it'd fly back down to demand praises from those who could not soar as it had. One day, it'd kill and slaughter mortals for the simple joy of it, demanding others to do the same in its name.

 _This_ was what she wished to stop, for they were not true gods. And if it meant that she must take the harder path, then so be it

"I choose dishonor," she whispered, raising her hands. "It is all I have left… I will use it to shape the world."

She unleashed her magicka. Spikes of ice raced through the air, imbedding in the dragon's flesh. It let out a wail, pitiful and very unlike that of the dragons she knew. No, this was unlike any dragon she knew. It was child. Its head raised slowly, casting her one look with bright eyes that conveyed both horror and pain, emotions adult dragons did not experience _and_ show others.

Then it faded, turning to dust that slipped through the grate below. Hermaeus Mora was surely laughing now...

 _No matter what that dragon would have become...it was still a child._

She felt tainted, even though there was a part of her that knew this dragon was not real. It was just an illusion, but one that had tested her. Had it been real, she still would have done it in necessity. The child may have been an illusion, but the way she felt was very real.

 _Cursed darkness… To think I would give up a part of myself for this power…for this greed. I wonder if Miraak or any of the others felt...feel, this way… Why do I doubt it?_

She approached the book, but the blood that did not stain her hands, stained her soul.

* * *

Zahkriisos would never have admitted it, but he found the Seeker highly disturbing. The hairy, fleshy being levitated off the floor, completely silent, save for the occasional gurgling noise it made now and then. He knew that whatever it was, it was unlikely it'd chosen to be the way it was _on purpose_.

"Seeker...thing…" he said to his guide. "Your master has an odd sense of humor. That big...hole you call a mouth doesn't even _speak_. How simple this would be if you could just _tell me_ what I need to do for this knowledge soon to be mine…"

As expected, he received absolutely no response.

"This is rather unexpected. I could never have imagined that me joining in on Dukaan's slaughter fest would land me here, arguing with a thing that can't speak... Honestly, that woman's more frightening than she realizes, I think..." He shrugged, "Silence is all you know, then? How do you communicate around here?"

The creature actually gurgled a little.

"Another noise! I _knew_ you had it within you, seeker!" Zahkriisos exclaimed in triumph. "I wonder if Hermaeus Mora sent this thing to just lead me all over Apocrypha for no other reason than to annoy me. It'd be fitting if he were simply amusing himself by making me follow this thing around…" He chuckled.

"Why, look at that!" he exclaimed, staring down a flight of stairs leading down to a large, open-roofed room. He had no idea where it'd come from as they'd traveled. "What do you think, seeker?... Do you think it's as easy as it looks. I doubt it. _Nothing_ is ever as easy as it looks."

He could see the book he needed to reach some distance away, at the end of the room, jammed rather uncaringly between two more tomes that were charred beyond recognition. He approached it, leaving his seeker guide behind, barely noticing it drifting away from him. When he reached the book, he became aware of what the catch was.

"This...is disappointing," he admitted to no one.

Only a few letters of the book's title were visible. The rest of the tome appeared to have fused with its neighboring tomes, wound with green hair and metal to keep them bound together. He had no idea how to even begin extracting it from that mess. Indeed, it appeared completely unreachable.

Zahkriisos thought for a moment, and then remembered that this place wasn't like Mundus. He'd studied Oblivion to a small extent, but he knew that while some realms mimicked the mortal one well, he was fairly certain that Apocrypha did not imitate the real world enough to think of the problem as a physical enigma. No, the book might appear unreachable to him, but it wasn't. It was simply another mystery to be solved. Luckily, ever since he was a young boy, Zahkriisos believed that he had a good grasp of puzzles. He hoped that this wasn't going to just insult his intellect.

He turned from the tome, examining the empty room. He switched his gaze upward and gave a start, realizing that a ceiling had appeared over his head. He turned his attention to the floor, miffed but thinking. After a moment, he realized what was the odd part. The room was empty in its entirety, save for the entrapped tome jammed within the others in the little unusual tower of hair and metal. Apocrypha was usually full of _things_...of knowledge…so...

 _Why is the room empty?_

He knew, typically, that the answer was more likely to be more simple than difficult.

He'd been talking...to no one...alone.

"I am alone!" He exclaimed. "That's the answer...alone…" he stared at the tome, still bound to the burnt books. "It is...rather _quiet_ …"

He could hear the blood pounding in his head, the individual thumps of his heart, the swishing of blood in his veins. It swirled within his head, creeping into his thoughts until he could think of little else than that rhythmic noise. He stood, still and unable to move, feeling as though the walls were closing in. Hours must have passed, but all Zahkriisos knew was that the sound of his own heartbeat was beginning to sound like a drumbeat pounding inside his head, a doom-riddled sound filling him with increasing alarm.

"Damn…" He muttered, massaging his temples. "A seeker would be preferable to this infernal silence. I...am unsure of what this is supposed to be, Hermaeus Mora, but a box for a room is really somewhat cruel, would you not agree? That tome is going nowhere…"

Empty silence was all he received. He did not know how much time was passing him by, or if any was at all. He did not understand this plane of Oblivion yet, and he had no idea if it had been seconds or minutes. He could feel his heart rate increasing, pounding faster in his head. His breathing picked up. His palms and forehead grew sweaty, and an alarming sensation made his hands tremble slightly.

"Damn it….damn it. This joke is not funny… What the hell is this?" Zahkriisos could feel it, a creeping wave of emotion that made his heart rate accelerate uncomfortably.

He paced the room, so tiny now that he could take only a few steps in each direction. The unmovable book remained at the center, taunting him silently. Zahkriisos hit the wall with his fist, knowing he would be unable to make it move. He was painfully aware of being trapped.

 _Focus on the book…_ he thought to himself.

After a moment, he forced himself to slow his breathing. He faced the book, leaning forward to glare at it.

"Well...do not doubt that I am Zahkriisos!" He exclaimed. "I do not tremble or break in a small box! My foes will not stand before my lightning!"

He placed his hands upon the fused alter. He knew heat and energy changed things, and he was determined to _change_ his situation. At least trying would give him something else to think about.

With a snarl, he summoned his magicka, even though it felt strangely weak, resistant to his efforts to focus. He struggled against his panic, trying to push it away. He surged magicka through his hands in reply, sending waves of electricity through the peculiar stand. The burnt books and metal melted away. The black book sat within his hands amidst the flashing lights of electricity.

"Lightning is the true power behind the wrath of any storm. And that is my way!" He declared, holding the tome aloft. The crackling of the electricity chased away the silence. "I have overcome this fear..."

He could no longer hear his own heartbeat, could no longer sense how close the walls were. No, his lightning was his power. Nothing, not even a small room, could take that away from him.

* * *

Ahzidal saw the creature charge at him. It was huge, with bulbous, pale eyes, long clawed arms and scaly flesh. Its back and head were crowned by tall, fish-like dorsal fins. The beast was as unappealing in appearance as the seeker that Ahzidal had previously been following until it'd vanished and left him to face this monster before him. It had also made him very irate.

"Do not doubt my perfection, abomination!" Ahzidal yelled, raging.

The creature roared in response, opening it's jaws to spit a wad of writhing tentacles. The fire mage unleashed flames to wipe them away, sending them at the creature. The flames leapt against its skin, sizzling its flesh and charring it.

" _Out of my way_ , creature!"

He faced the monsters, more and more. They emerged from the pools of slime, the dark walls, the changing atmosphere. Scaly fish-monsters, as he viewed them, approached him, too many to count. He faced them all, regardless, fire and rage as his ally, burning through them without the faintest hint of mercy. Gone was his calm outer shell, for his wrath had broken through.

Unfortunately, even the strongest fires died down and the greatest rages faded eventually.

After fighting and fighting, he was down before he realized it. He struggled, his body aching from the various injuries. He pushed off the floor, staring at the endless hordes of monsters surrounding him. He felt his strength slipping through his fingers. Pain burned in him, but he could not raise himself again. He tried to call upon his fire magicka, but he received nothing.

 _"Papa!?"_ A voice rang through the hordes of beasts.

"My...angel?" He whispered. "Lokziii? Where are you?"

 _"Papa!?"_ The voice called again, and was even further away than before.

"LOKZIII!"

The faint voice screamed, and the monsters froze around him.

Ahzidal, his mask and fiery robes replaced by dull travelling clothes, stood at the edge of the broken ruins that were the remnants of a once proud and beautiful city. The sad, shapeless slabs testified to what had stood, barely lumps of stones and boulders, destroyed in fury. The place was leveled beyond reason and recognition. Houses were collapsed, streets were torn, and carts were turned, still faintly smoldering. The still air stank of smoke and stale blood.

He walked, picking his way through the rubble. He climbed through the debris of a collapsed tower, stepping past two or three bodies. He moved with a sluggishness, dread dragging at his limbs. It tried to still him, but he pushed on. He knew what he would see when he reached his destination and did not want to behold the sight.

He crossed a small square, moving through the destroyed street. He reached the shell of the house, embers still burning along its edges like orange stars imbedded in black soot. He passed through the shattered door, blinking. His eyes adjusted, and he saw the bodies upon the floor.

A woman's and two children. All were familiar.

 _If only I had been here…_

He turned, retching upon the floor impulsively, not bothering to try and stop it even if he could. He straightened, walked back outside, and stared listlessly into the embers of a nearby, dying flame. He approached them, stopping once to prise wood from a broken cart nearby to feed it. He struggled, patiently holding the wood to the small flame, never giving up. This was too important, in a way. He'd failed already in such a horrible way...but no more.

A flame leapt to life from the fuel, and he knew the truth; he was this flame, brought back to life with the simple desire to annihilate those responsible for the loss of those he loved. Bitter, hate-filled rage filled his entire being, setting his essence on fire. He could feel it, bubbling up in his veins as if he had fire for blood. He knew the reason was for all he had lost. He knew that he was not justice. No, not even vengeance.

He was a destroyer now...bitter for all he'd lost. The bitter destroyer.

 _The snow elves will burn! All of them! I will make sure their very existence will end!_

Ahzidal's vision of that world vanished. Gone were the illusions that'd surrounded him. He stood before the black book, his injuries non-existent, wearing his fiery robes as before.

Once again, he had faced the death of those he'd loved. Once again, he had risen from the flames of his broken world. Once again, he had proven himself the bitter destroyer. His flame might flicker at times, he knew, but it would never cool...never die...because he could not let it go. He deserved the secrets he'd sought, he knew.

The tome he had searched for soon rested in his hands.

* * *

The light from the morning sun split the night as it rose from the horizon. Fog lingered in the glow, leaving the air oddly damp and still as it swirled languidly in the shadows of tall sycamores. The twisted, ancient trees were like none Miraak had ever before seen. With a feeling of caution, he proceeded forward through the haze-filled woods. His gaze shifted from barren tree to barren tree, each coated heavily with snow.

The world felt hazy, surreal for a few moments. Then, it was very crystalline clear. Somehow, he could sense that something...was off. There was a presence amidst the ancient trees, odd, as though it shouldn't be there. He felt the faint magicka tingling in the air, and reached forward to place his hand upon the frozen bark of a tree, pausing his journey. Around him, the atmosphere seemed to buzz intensely, and it reminded him of another place, but he couldn't pull it to mind. The woods felt impossibly older than the land itself.

 _It is very old...I do not recognize this place...but it is familiar… Have I been here before?_

Miraak continued forward, moving through the old trees. His feet stirred powdery snow, and the empty woods were stubbornly silent. His concentration on his surroundings did not break as he walked. He watched his feet for a moment while navigating over roots, then focused on moving forward. That felt like the right thing to do. For a while, his trip was undisturbed but strange. He still felt that feeling of caution, but gradually, it was fading. The familiarity of the place was putting his thoughts at ease.

The air was gentle and soothing, but it didn't feel cold, the way he expected it to. He strolled through the endless silence, uncertain where he was going, but never concerned. The morning was sharp and clear, pleasant. The sky was lost behind the veil of trees. Miraak could discern nothing other than the old trees.

There was a voice, speaking, breaking the silence.

"Why do you disturb this place?" The words echoed in the trees in the language of the dragons, far away but near. Miraak calmly continued.

"I seek knowledge," he responded, thinking that the voice seemed distinctly familiar.

"You are blind, then, to your path of death."

"There is but one path, and I see it clearly."

"AH!" It howled in anger. "What is destiny, but a toy?... It does seem that the knowledge calls to you, as well," it observed. "It beckons, summons. Irresistible. Unknown. You must find out the secret, you must unveil the unseen, always dragged along to roads you cannot see. Is _that_ why you would rather face peril? Doom? Don't you realize...what I am?"

Miraak calmly continued, but he remained silent. It was far too peaceful, he thought, for the dangerous voice that spoke.

"Miraak," it growled. "Every step brings you closer to demise. True, you think I am powerful, but that I am no danger to you. You think you are safe with me! You cannot see your end, the curse of the foolish and the arrogant!"

"I am not bothered by you," responded the dragonborn calmly.

The voice let out a hiss, distorted and twisted. "Then, come and face me yourself…if you must. You should have accepted my warning, instead, and turned back."

There was a moment of silence. Miraak saw the trees start to twist and shake, but it felt unreal, as though he were watching an elaborate trick. The peace that had fallen was disturbed, shaken. The forest shifted, and the illusion of the ancient grove twisted into a tunnel leading to a familiar green world. The skies of Apocrypha were shown through the twisted metal trees. Statues of fish with spike teeth adorned the unnatural hallway that rolled out before him.

Miraak nodded. "And so you show truth, creature."

There was another snarl, "the illusion of a world gone by! A world you cannot ever comprehend! Destiny was a fate long since decided! And with your final, unending steps, you decide your own end!"

It hissed again, and Miraak could just see the book far ahead. A man stood there, or it seemed to be a man. The voice resonated from him. Now that voice seemed very familiar.

"I am your anger...your hatred...your knowing... I am the one you created when you cast away all illusion!" Hissed the man as he stepped forward.

Miraak froze. Green light glinted on the man's golden mask and dark, blue robes.

The items were familiar... The voice was familiar...

They were his own.

"You are..."

It was himself. Somehow, this image disagreed with Miraak, but he didn't understand why.

"I am you," responded he, "but different. The side of you that burns with indignation, but remembers a fate lost!" The facsimile of himself stated.

Miraak approached his mirror image, hesitant. He did not understand this. He'd expected trouble, and he'd been able to cast aside the creature's illusions...only to discover that he'd been chasing himself. It troubled him. The other paced forward, scrutinizing him. He traipsed around him in a circle, his arms folded. Miraak followed the other with his eyes, not looking away. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, the other broke the silence. "Well, Miraak. You have power...is that not what you seek?"

"I seek that book," Miraak replied.

"Yes, we both know...that our lust for power will be our undoing."

"The powers in that book will save us," responded the dragonborn softly. "If I do not gain power, I will fall and be trampled by those who see me as a threat. My destiny was decided when my blood was apparent."

"No, Miraak!" snapped the man. "We sealed our fate when we stepped out of line. Our discovery...our _enlightenment_ ," it made a spitting noise, "did not seal our fate. Our determination to force others to see our point of view did!"

Miraak looked to the black book where it sat. The vaguely green symbol of Hermaeus Mora pulsed with light on the cover, and in the silence of Apocrypha, Miraak could hear the heartbeat to it. He was taken by its mesmerizing quality.

"Do you see the truth?" The other asked. "If you weren't so weak, you're own nature would not devour you. Unaware of the danger, the book of promise has already captured your gaze. You will never know what has hit us until it's too late!"

He stepped forward, his immaculate robes glimmering in Apocrypha. Miraak met the other's gaze, frowning openly. "I am well aware of my enemies. The book will give me the edge I need."

"Then." The man stopped before him. "...why don't you take it?" he hissed. "You hunger for it, yes?" He stepped forward, tall, intimidating.

Miraak stayed rooted to the spot.

"What's the matter?" The man taunted. "Oh, we both forgot. You are nothing without your hatred, your pride and power. You cannot cross me, because I control you. I am everything you fear, yet want. I am you, but you accept my poison in your soul..."

"It is illusion," Miraak responded, his voice cold. "You are not of me, this I know. Do not pretend you know what is within me."

"I am your only truth, Miraak. Whether I am part of you or not, you cannot deny your own wisdom as it pours from my mouth. We are one, and I am stronger than the half you have assumed for yourself here. You pushed me away, but yet, I linger."

Miraak shook his head. "I am not that." He looked right at the other. "I am not you. You almost made me believe...but my blue robes no longer serve their purpose...my mask is destroyed." He folded his arms. "I will never wear such again. Though you've dulled my wrath, it is building." He smiled coldly. "I am not new to Apocrypha and its deceptions!"

"Oh, what a pity," it's voice grew more smooth, yet demonic. "You were so fun to play, Miraak."

The other lunged forward, hands turning into deadly claws.

Miraak's own hands unleashed a wave of fire onto the other. It howled, but lashed out anyway. Miraak felt the claws graze his flesh, and he hissed, stumbling back. He watched as horns twisted out of the creature's head. The mask fell from its face. Dark black flesh framed red eyes that met Miraak's. The dragonborn shifted away. It lunged back, landing on it's hands and feet. Its robes turned black to match its skin. Its serrated claws dug into the grates below it.

"I am daedra!" Hissed the creature, sharp fangs in its mouth. It let loose a terrible screech.

Miraak wanted to cover his ears, but refrained from such.

"Despair Miraak," it howled, "for I have seen your shallow heart, and I will rip it from your chest."

Miraak threw more fire before him, but the creature dodged the barrage with unbelievable agility. It moved low. Lunging up, both claws sank deep into Miraak's chest. He growled in pain. The demon's fangs reached for his neck, but Miraak used his chance to seize and burn the daedra's face.

The claws left his torso. The demon fell back, writhing on the ground, screaming in its horrible voice. It gave a vicious snarl. Miraak launched a bolt of lightning at it. It hissed, leaping away. It jumped forward again, and the dragonborn shouted, calling upon the power of the dragon.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The daedra flew back, slamming into the floor. Miraak was quick to follow through. The creature howled as fire hit it directly this time. A sickly burnt smell filled the air. Smoke rose from the form. Miraak pushed forward, readying himself. He winced at the sharp pain that lanced from his wounds.

The daedra struggled to rise.

"You are nothing, lesser daedra!" Miraak declared.

He summoned his magicka, though it felt like it were resisting him. With a war-cry, he unleashed another deadly burst of fire from his hands. The daedra screamed and writhed, burning. The air became nearly stifling with the stench of the creature's burning. For several long minutes, it tried to stand, tried to escape. However, the greedy flames would not be denied.

When Miraak finally let up on his spell, a pile of ash lingered on the floor, unmoving in the still silence that followed. He turned towards the book, nodding to himself.

"Ahhh...good," Hermaeus Mora appeared in the sky, voice lazy. "I...had begun to...grow tired of that fool lingering here... He had grown far too fond of this book... I could hardly be bothered over so lowly a daedra...and I knew he wouldn't be too much trouble for you...a little added challenge, one might say..."

"Indeed, but hardly challenging," Miraak responded confidently. He strode for his prize.

He opened the book, feeling satisfaction. When he saw the words of power, he started in surprise at the simple implications of them.

Hermaeus Mora said, "I know that these...words of power...will interest you greatly."

"This is…" Miraak trailed off, disbelieving his eyes.

"That is the edge you desired, my champion... The edge...you need..." With that said, the daedric prince faded once again from view.

* * *

.

* * *

 **Dovahzul -**

 _Lokziii(name) - my angel._

* * *

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **A/N** _ \- _Yes, the baby dragon is my personal head-canon(meaning it's something I accept as truth, even if it isn't stated in-game). My reasons? Well, I feel like beings that can die should reproduce. If a dragon is truly immortal, then that dragon should not be able to die permanently. That's my view on it, anyway, and I will admit that it is inspired by my witnessing other authors approaching the subject in similar fashions within their own stories, and I've seen too many to give any individual credit over it..._

 _Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I feel as if it isn't one of my better ones, for some reason..._


	19. All Feel Fear

~D~

XIX. All Feel Fear

(Pah Fraan Faas)

Miraak leaned against his throne, feeling his body itching with the need to move. The frustration gripping his insides melted all of his attempts to think of anything else. Oh, how he was bored! He wanted to do something, anything. Killing a dragon would have been better than this... Nothing quite beat a dragon hunt. A fight such as that would have given him the opportunity to try out the new robes and mask he had - a gift from Hermaeus Mora himself. Despite his increasing agitation, he was not in the position to go searching for any dragons. He was required to sit here and wait, trying to quell his impatience.

"Nahlot," he said, impatience obvious in his voice. The man standing nearby glanced in his direction. "When are they going to arrive?"

"I was informed they wanted to meet you...I suspected it would be soon. After first break, they said."

"First break has come and gone. I distaste this idleness." With that, he made to move, but the sounds of voices reached him. There was a large amount of them. He stilled himself, realization dawning on him, and prepared for what he knew was about to come.

Finally, one by one, workers and servants poured into the room - dozens of them, but less than before. They came to him like this, and he'd learn to anticipate it. He sighed at the inevitable words they would speak. Scowling, he watched one of them approach him. The man was maskless but fully dressed in the metal armor of guards. The dragonborn nearly scoffed out loud.

The man looked up at Miraak from under his helmet and spoke cautiously, as if that somehow made his words less likely to garner a negative response. "Lord Miraak, we wish permission to leave and join those in the south for the revolution."

"And if I were to say no?" The dragonborn watched some of them shift uneasily at his words. He measured them silently.

 _Pathetic...what do I need with these men and women here now? They can barely hold their own in a conversation…_

"We would try to persuade you," said another of the rebels, her voice equally careful.

"Lord Miraak," said the man, "we owe our allegiance to you, as always. But our brethren need us in the south… In fact," he dared. "You should join us."

"No," came the harsh reply. "I do not intend to join a rebellion of fools." Miraak shifted, his hand gesturing out dismissively. "By all means, though, leave. Join the rebels. Your weapons may soften the beasts yet. When I sweep death from the north, you will remember who you serve."

"Yes, my lord."

"Why will you not come with us?" Asked the woman, her voice oddly determined.

Miraak exhaled impatiently. "The rebellion's leaders, they see this war differently than I. They cannot understand the true significance of a dragonborn, and my thu'um is nothing to them. The death of a hundred dragons would not change their minds... But even that is beside the point; they would see a chaotic world follow the dragons...where I see a world of truth and order. Those who know that, know what I am." Miraak's voice raised slightly. "Make no mistake. When the time comes, dragons and men will both follow me."

"Then, we will take our leave," said the man. He nodded slightly. "Thank you, my lord."

"Good luck with...your quest," Miraak responded absently.

He watched them filing out. There were mutters, uncertain but brief, silenced by those who knew better. They left in an uncertain but determined way. He could have stopped them, but he didn't.

 _My very voice would have reined them in, if I wished. But for how troublesome that would be._

He saw no reason to. In time, when the dragons fell, they would return. His most loyal servants remained at his side regardless. Laana, Nina, Kreniik, Nahlot, and a few others stayed even as these fools took up arms, cast aside their masks, and marched south.

* * *

Dukaan walked down the hallway, her heart pounding in her ears, an uncomfortable sensation playing at her senses. She couldn't help it, couldn't stop it. She had not been content with what she had discovered within her book, even though it had been knowledge she'd sought for herself. No, her problem wasn't even what the knowledge had given her, but more of what the action of taking it represented.

She could not stop thinking of the dragon child in Apocrypha, and how she'd brutally slaughtered it. Truthfully, she wasn't even certain as to why the memory of the young dragon kept coming back to haunt her, a bothering, terrible feeling she struggled to overcome.

Regret, she knew, a feeling she was unaccustomed to.

Upon reflection, she'd seen what it'd done to her...and now she felt that regret sharply. There was a darkness in her soul, dishonor, she realized, and it went beyond her deal with the daedra. It had been inside of her since she'd become a dragon priest, mercilessly serving the dragon's whims and doing terrible deeds in their name. How it bothered her now, but she needed to face it. She needed someone else to face it, too. If not, when her death came, she would regret even more than she already did.

Dukaan paused before a door, breathing evenly. Feeling regret did not suit her well, and it put her on edge. She steadied herself, listening. The faint crackle of a turning page in a book reached her ears, somehow easing her agitation. After a few more seconds of silence, Dukaan walked into the room.

Miraak looked up, mask illuminated by the candle light.

She gave a start, involuntarily. "Miraak!" she exhaled sharply. "What darkness have you draped yourself in?"

His new mask was grotesque, and very reminiscent of his daedric master. Its eye slits were perfectly narrow, and the long tendrils associated with Hermaeus Mora were patterned in the metal that covered his chin and neck. His robes were splendid and fancy but dull. Dark green sat beneath pale dragon bone adorning his arms and shoulders. Dark power resonated from his entire form.

She couldn't help the stab of fear that very outfit put into her soul. She hid it though, which was not hard with her own mask. She had changed her own mask and robes not long ago as well, but nothing matched Miraak's for the very likeness and darkness of the daedra he served.

She gritted her teeth in pure frustration now. Did he not realize what corruption he subjected himself to? Especially with that daedra?

"This?" He asked, not even bothering to look at or indicate his attire. "This is a gift from Hermaeus Mora, as I'm sure you could have determined on your own. What is the problem, exactly?" He lowered the book, but kept his hand on it so that it lay open upon the table.

"It's unnerving," she admitted. "It's as if you have shrouded yourself with his darkness."

"Darkness?" He scoffed. "Dukaan, this is true power. Now, what is it that you needed?"

"To converse with you," she said simply. She took a seat across from him.

"Alright, speak," he said, closing his book completely and setting it aside.

She stated, "I finished my study from that tome."

"Good. And you have learned what you wanted, I suspect?"

Her voice softened. "I did, but I also learned something else the book didn't give me."

"And what is that?" his tone became suspicious.

"That I am weak," she said, looking down. "I gave into the temptation of power, and now I serve you in the name of a daedra. The very act of making such a deal only proved my dishonor that has stained my soul ever since I made a path of blood in the name of the dragons."

"This again? You act as if a person cannot change..." Miraak's voice grew impatient. "Weak, you say? That is nonsensical. You are more powerful, are you not?"

"Magickally? _Yes._ Willfully? _No_." She sighed. "I cannot continue reading these books. The price is too high. I will serve you as the acolyte, as I vowed to. I will not turn from my duty on that, but I refuse to return to Apocrypha."

"So be it," Miraak said. He couldn't make Dukaan see how silly she sounded right then, he knew. "You won't read from the books of knowledge anymore, and I will not ask you to. That is your decision, and I'll respect it."

"I am appreciative." She stood up.

Miraak reached for his book.

"Miraak."

He stopped.

"I know," she started, "that you don't think much of my thoughts, but...be careful. Hermaeus Mora is using you, you must be aware."

He looked up sharply, and a shiver ran down her spine at the mask again.

"Hermaeus Mora has rewarded me for my service," said Miraak. "He does not _use_ me." He tensed, angry.

"Just...be wary. Herma-Mora sees more than any of us can. Whatever purpose he wants you for...it will be for his benefit alone."

Miraak's voice grew as cold as the ice magicka she favored. "Leave me, Dukaan. You are out of line."

"I... I apologize," she said before turning to leave.

"Dukaan..." He stopped her.

She glanced back at his mask from where she stood in the door frame.

"I accept your apology." He continued, his tone thoughtful, "I understand your distrust for the daedra...I shared it, once. But do not worry for me. If I honor my bargain, than he shall too. It goes both ways," he said.

"I hope so."

"Did he not honor _your_ bargain?"

"That...is true..." she conceded slowly.

He nodded and opened his book again. "Then, good night, Dukaan."

"Good night, Miraak."

 _I can't tell if he is lost, or not._ She thought.

She felt a sensation, and it was different, yet similar, to regret. The injustice of all that had happened stung her. If she had seen what was coming, maybe she could have stopped it. Mostly, the feeling was strange, and it made her wonder; why did she care at all? It was not her place to.

She refused her thoughts further, swiftly striding through the hallways of Miraak's grand temple.

* * *

Miraak crossed his throne room, his gaze, which was not covered by his mask for once, was admiring the skeletons of the countless dead dragons decorating everywhere that seemed aesthetically convenient. He nodded appreciatively, examining the bones with careful eyes. They were beautiful, he decided, marking his recent successes. He halted, staring into Sosvulzein's empty eye-sockets overhead.

 _Sosvulzein...I killed you. You were not immortal, and neither are your brethren. You...Lotyolviing...Diiviizkren... It matters not._ Miraak smiled to himself. He was winning, he knew. _I eagerly await adding Paarthurnax's remains to this collection._

He heard footsteps approaching. He turned, picking out the familiar robes of the lightning mage in his service.

"I must go my own way soon," Zahkriisos announced without ceremony, also stopping to admire Sosvulzein's remains.

Miraak looked at him, curious. "Really?"

"I won't leave your service, Miraak. I swore by Hermaeus Mora, and I intend to honor that. However, I am hoping you will allow me some freedom. I still answer to you. It is... I abandoned my temple in the south, and I wish to begin preparations to rebuild it here in the north...I do not like the idea of dying unknown with no tomb to rest my remains."

"Indeed, I understand. It may even be a good idea. My influence shall spread, as well as Hermaeus Mora's, in the wake of your trail."

"I appreciate it, Miraak." He inclined his head.

"When will you leave?"

"I still have some things to settle around here, but I will leave soon, I imagine."

Miraak looked back to Sosvulzein.

Zahkriisos turned, walking away. Dukaan passed him as he crossed down the chamber.

"Contemplating your next strike on the dovah?" She asked when she reached Miraak.

"Perhaps..."

"Or are you remembering your victory over that dragon?"

"Sosvulzein was his name," Miraak responded. "For a time, he was the dragon I served. However, he never gave me much of his attention. He was pleased when I killed others in his name... But he barely spoke to me."

She looked up too, her uncovered face turning to a slight frown. "By death, you honored his bloodlust. He wasn't too fond of you, though."

"The dragons are _fond_ of no one," Miraak said. "The capacity to feel fondness is not theirs, only mortals'. Even Alduin is only their leader through blood and death. It is all they understand. They do not know the truth about leadership."

"What do you believe is the truth about leadership?" Dukaan asked, folding her arms.

"It is casting down those who oppose you, yes. However, it lays in the power of the leader. That leader should be more than his followers..."

"In what way?"

Miraak's gaze went to his throne. "He needs to be powerful, but not bloodthirsty outside of battle. He must always seek to better himself, but not accept what others are ready to. He must be wary, but constant. Most of all, he cannot dangle death over his followers... In their weakness, they will rise, out of complete fear and panic... Like the rebels in the south."

Dukaan didn't look at him as she spoke. "It sounds like that is who you aspire to be."

"I do not merely aspire to it... I will be it. It is destiny. As much so as the blizzards that sweep across this land. Keizaal... No. I do not wish the dragons' chosen name for it again. Skyrim, the rebels call it. It is fitting."

"Rim of the sky," Dukaan whispered. "The lips of the breath of air, and the teeth of the shout."

"What did you seek out in your book?" Miraak asked. "You said you had finished, but your satisfaction was absent in the face of your distaste for my clothing." His voice was strangely unreserved.

She felt surprised. She hadn't expected such curiosity on something that was probably so menial to him. Perhaps he was hoping to glean something for himself. It wouldn't surprise her, he was undeniably hungry for the knowledge his master offered him. And yet...

"I sought the ways of the ice form," she said, shifting slightly. "An in-depth study my former dragon companion never knew. Ice is beautiful. It is the heart of this land. Cold, bitter, and unforgiving, it brings the fight to those who have forgotten the fight. I hold onto it as the only constant in an ever-changing world. A gentle frosting can slowly sap one's strength, or an all out freeze can stop one's heart." She smiled slightly. "I find the power itself honorable."

"And yet you still believe yourself honorless?"

"Not by choice," she murmured. "It was fate."

"Fate is important, but that does not mean you must walk your destiny in dishonor..."

"What do you think of when you see ice?" She raised her hand, cold white magicka surrounding, her eyes drawn to it.

Miraak exhaled. "For now, I think of Hevnoraak."

She looked at him, brows furrowed. "Really?"

"He favored ice. I think of his brutality."

"You do not think well of ice?"

"That is not what I meant... I respect ice, just as I respect Hevnoraak. He is a worthy foe...like ice. This land of ice is the only match for he and his masters' cruelty."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"I fear nothing."

"I hear that so often," she said, smiling joylessly. "All feel fear, and Hevnoraak preys on that weakness."

"He preys on the weakness of pain. _I_ cast aside fear, replacing it with knowledge."

She looked back at her hand, closing it slowly, magicka fading. "Those who know themselves, know fear."

"Once, but no more." He looked strangely uneasy. "However, death is always there. Lingering...like the smell of dried blood after a fight."

She met his pale eyes. "You fear death..."

He stiffened, his jaw clenching. "No."

"It is alright," she said. "I will not speak of it to anyone."

"I would ensure they would not believe you."

Before she knew what she was doing, her hand reached for his face. So close, so far. She nearly flinched when he seized her wrist quickly, but she had more or less expected the reaction. Instead, she kept his gaze, stubbornly refusing to back down.

He narrowed his eyes, his voice steely. "Don't do this, Dukaan...it is far too late to reach me in such a way."

He dropped her hand, turned, and stalked away.

 _You won't make it without help,_ she thought in annoyance. _You just don't realize it. You fear death because it's the only ending to this path you've made for yourself that makes sense. Yet, you stand, rebellious, ready to prove everyone wrong._

"The world doesn't work that way, Miraak." She whispered in the silence that followed. "I cannot let go so easily this time. Not after all that has happened, and not to this darkness."

Defiantly, she raised her gaze and pursued him.

* * *

Ahzidal had taken to the wilderness not long after meeting Hermaeus Mora. Miraak didn't know what the book had revealed to him, but it'd put a gleam in his eyes and turned him to the wilds. Before he left, though, he and Miraak had spent some time conversing over the Dwemer, mostly at the dragonborn's insistence. It had gone something like this -

The dragonborn asked Ahzidal, who sat across from him at the break table, "You studied with the Dwemer...what were they like?"

"The Dwemer are a race that believe in logic above everything else," Ahzidal had explained, sipping from his mug of ale. "They don't worship really anything. They love knowledge though. You can bet your life that they'd love to get their hands on a black book." He snorted in amusement. "Though I doubt they'd appreciate the author much."

"They have no gods?" Miraak asked.

"Nope. They don't worship dragons or daedra or even the divines those rebels seem to favor. It is hard to comprehend...an entire race with no faith."

"Except in what they know," Miraak responded. "It is a good concept. I comprehend it completely."

Ahzidal snorted, "Yeah, try telling that to a Dwemer. For all of their logic, they're like stone walls. Impossible to budge. You saw the captain in the road that time when we rescued your ass. A bit of knowledge about the Dwemer - you know you're going to die, unless he acknowledges you by name. Should he do so, it is a show of respect."

The dragonborn let his rather rude comment slide, too eager for information to get into an arguement. "How would one actually...contact the Dwemer without that hostility."

The fire mage smiled. "Well, it's more of a matter of impressing them before they lose their patience and kill you for whatever reason. They respect law, that's for certain. If you break the law, you're no more important than a worm. And going into their territory is very much breaking the law. You can't contact them without breaking their rules, and I suspect that is on purpose. It's highly unlikely you'll see a Dwemer outside his boundaries."

Miraak replied, "I told you already, but I once destroyed a bandit camp in which I saw a dwemer bolt in the bandits' chief. There was some kind of mock decree trying to mimic the dragon priests, and doing a poor job of it. It wasn't until I saw the Dwemer that I realized it came from them... They must leave their territory on the occasion."

"I said ' _see'_...that doesn't mean they don't leave their territory." Ahzidal laughed. "How do you think those outpost keep springing up everywhere? They're constantly building roads below us, you know. Not many people realize it." He took a drink of his ale.

"You've gotten off track, Ahzidal. Tell me how to find them."

"Why would you _want_ to find them? They want nothing to do with men and they'll kill you without a single regret."

"That is my business... Now, they dealt with you, did they not? Why should they refuse me if I have the right bargaining chip?"

"You'd better have a good chip, then."

"What was yours?"

" _That is my business._ " Ahzidal mocked the dragonborn's voice. He laughed into his next swig of ale.

Miraak felt himself growing impatient. "You must know some way to get their attention."

"I know plenty of ways to get their attention...but I'm guessing you mean in a non-lethal way." He put down his ale. "Look, there's no definite way. You'll get yourself killed."

"Just tell me...you're leaving right? I die, you don't have to worry about answering to me anymore..." Of course, Miraak knew he wouldn't die, but he was trying to get this information.

"Fine...fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I will not."

"Okay," Ahzidal said. "Listen closely, because I don't feel like repeating myself..."

Ahzidal told him.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul** _ - _I don't think there's any to translate this chapter._


	20. Exchange of Knowledge

~D~

XX. Exchange of Knowledge

(Ofanix do Mindah)

"The world doesn't work like that," Dukaan said, continuing their conversation right where Miraak had left it. "It never works the way you desire it to," she reiterated. "You don't just fill a role in life, you shove into it, pushing others away."

 _Why didn't she give up?_ He wondered absently. Then again, he found himself drawn to the argument on fate, curious as to why she thought the way she did, and he also wanted to defend his own beliefs on it. "Then you do not believe that fate guides my actions? You feel that I am simply walking this path for no reason?" He asked sourly. "Being dragonborn is a purpose, a destiny."

"I believe that. However, I also believe that the world will not align with a single individual's desires… Everyone else believes in their own purposes and destinies too; they don't care if you are successful in _your_ endeavors." Her eyes glinted coldly. "They'll push you down and steal your glory for their own reasons."

"That is why I am doing all I must."

"And if it is not enough?"

"It is enough! Fate guides me to what I must do!" He exclaimed. He felt it then, a moment of uncertainty.

 _Does fate truly not work the way I believed?_ The world worked exactly as those who walked in it made it. Fate. There was a goal, a plan, a purpose for all. But only if one went actively seeking that purpose, they could fill it. With this reasoning, how could he be wrong about fate? He stared at her, scowling.

Her eyes were sharp, clear and purposeful. He realized that she had seen his thoughts of uncertainty - it must have shown on his face - for a certain winning triumph raised her chin and widened her eyes slightly. The look she bore was almost challenging. He felt a strong storm of chaotic emotions rise in his chest, burning indignation into his thoughts.

"You want me to doubt my destiny?" He demanded. "Why on Nirn?!"

"Yes! Rarely has one ever tread a path blindly _without_ twisting his foot or taking a fall! A moment of doubt means you look down to find your footing."

He stared at her, warring emotions tussling for control of his thoughts. On the one hand, he felt his anger at being challenged, but on the other, he felt a strange moment of understanding that tried to calm his rage. Despite his agitation, he knew that there was a truth to her words. He had not stopped to look around. He had stringently followed his destiny, believing himself correct, taking any advantages fate offered him, and carving a path through his enemies... And yet, he'd not been as blind as she thought.

His fight with Hevnoraak had left him more fearful inside than he'd realized before. But the truth remained the same, radiantly clear now; the battle had created doubt in his mind, made him angry at his mentor, and caused hesitancy to enact his next move. Even the newest words of power Hermaeus Mora had taught him had not yet been used, even though there'd been opportunity to do so. It was now clear as to why... He'd been afraid. Afraid that somewhere, his destiny was not enough. If Hevnoraak had so nearly killed him, was he truly destined for the path he walked? What had gone wrong?

Dukaan had made this troubling truth so evident with her mercilessly cold words and driving attitude. She'd surfaced his bitter uncertainty with her prodding. He wasn't pleased by it.

"You think doubt will help me?" He asked, breaking eye contact to look at the desk before him. "You are wrong. Doubt will only hinder me...as it does now," he admitted, sounding pained to do so.

"When you refuse to acknowledge and work through it!" she snapped. "You feel doubt, and then push it away, believing it a weakness! You don't try and help it turn into a weapon of certainty!"

He leaned back, a heavy sigh escaping him. "If you believe this so strongly, then _you_ must know how to work through doubt, and yet you still think of yourself as dishonor!"

"I doubted my honor, and my dishonor," she responded evenly. "I finally acknowledged it, and worked through it... I can work through doubt... Even if I cannot work through regret," she confessed, looking away, eyes blinking once. "But that is something entirely different."

"Fine then," Miraak muttered. "Enlighten me."

She must have heard the sarcasm in his tone, for she was glaring at him again. "Miraak," she said. "It is simple...trust yourself… Trust who you know you are. Start by reminding yourself of that troublesome doubt, and then remind yourself of what you _know_. Trust what you know."

He stared at her, expression unreadable.

"And if nothing else," she whispered. "Trust in your enemies' fears, your allies' strength. Trust _me_ , because I believe that you were born to bring down the dragons and change this corrupted world... Dragonborn."

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, he said, quite simply, "Thank you…" But those two words held far more appreciation than he realized they would.

She looked mildly surprised. "You are welcome." Then she marched out of the reading room without looking back.

* * *

Miraak walked down the path, boots crunching lightly in the snow, distracted with the memory of the conversation. He still worked at his doubts, remembering what she had said. It was not so simple as she made it sound, but he knew it was a start, and that it had helped to simply speak of those lingering doubts. Despite this, he knew that he needed to focus on his journey today, he could worry about his doubts on destiny later. He pulled himself from the memory and shifted his hold on the Epistolary Acumen, the book Hermaeus Mora had sent him to collect in Apocrypha, and the same one that had imparted those worthy words of power. He held it to himself. Even though he was done learning all the knowledge he could from it, he wasn't completely okay with what was to come.

Of course, the actual idea had been Hermaeus Mora's though, so certainly it was not so wasteful as it had sounded to him.

 _This is right,_ he reassured himself. There was the part of him that was completely uncertain about this. Still, he was in need of any help he could get. There was no turning back, he decided, he'd already come this far. He'd continue on.

Realizing that he was tense, he loosened his shoulders, rolling them to work out the tension. He was acutely aware of how lonesome this part of the land seemed, quiet, save for a lone bird uttering an almost mournful song in the young dawn. Occasionally, the wind picked up, slinging snow before it. The bright sun reflected upon the snow, nearly blinding. As he traveled the cold and unforgiving land, so did the sun travel the cold and empty, blue sky.

At last, he reached his destination, if his instructions could be trusted, and he felt they could. There was a rather large, abnormal tree several paces from the trail that looked like it'd bent around until it was nearly growing sideways from that bend. Miraak reached it, tracing a large symbol carved into the bark. With a sigh, he leaned against it. Ahzidal had lead him here, but he had his doubts.

He waited until he heard the sound of others moving lightly, treading through the foliage several dozen paces away. He pushed himself from the colorless bark and looked towards the faint sound, carefully placing himself a few paces away from the tree. The voices had gone silent by the time he'd done so; the owners of them surely knew he was there. Steadily, a heavily armed figure emerged from the woods in yellow-gold plate. More of the armored warriors materialized from the undergrowth behind him, silent in their strange way.

Miraak, though he easily recollected the encounter in the road and his talk with Ahzidal, still found himself a little unnerved by the deep golden eyes staring at him from their twisted helmets hiding their features underneath. The eyes were narrowed, barely visible, slanted in that elven style. He was not certain what to think of Dwemer, for he did not like feeling unnerved.

One of the elves spoke in his native tongue with a deep, gruff voice. "Look at this, Zkriegelk, one of the dragon-worshippers is here."

"So it would seem," responded another who stepped up beside him. His voice was a bit more pleasant to hear.

Their language was foreign to Miraak in every way, but he was determined to communicate.

"I wish to speak with you," he stated. "I... _apologize_ for interrupting your patrol. I must speak with your kind."

"What do you want, dragon-worshipper? Why shouldn't I kill you now for trespassing?" Another elf asked, sounding bored as he pushed to the front with the other two. They stepped back.

"Actually, I am not trespassing until I have passed the border-mark." Miraak responded confidently, pointing to the odd tree with its symbol. "And I do not worship any dragons. I have cast them aside. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am Miraak, dragonb-"

"What do we care for the affairs of men?" Interrupted the Dwemer, his voice sharp.

"I have slain no less than thirty dragons."

"Ah, so a rebel we have here," laughed the elf. "Tell me who you bow to now, _human_." He sounded as though there was little worse than being human.

"I bow to no one," Miraak said. "I am master of my own destiny now."

"Really? Interesting..." said the mer, blinking. "How did you know this tree was a border-marker?"

"A man named Ahzidal shared this knowledge with me."

"Ahzidal? I know that human...he was quite exceptional I seem to remember, given the circumstances of men."

"I wish to speak to someone who is in charge," Miraak said quickly. "I have something to offer."

"There is little you can offer us, human."

"What about this?" Miraak pushed his sleeve aside and lifted his Epistolary Acumen. "Well?"

The mer took a step back quickly, speaking Dwemer. He froze, then spoke again. "You claim to bow to no one, but you have that!" He gestured angrily. "Daedra-worshipping dirt!"

"I never said I bowed to its master," Miraak replied, controlling his irritation. "I have the book, true, but I do not worship its author."

"We should take him to see Captain Nebrec, Scout Brazzelchond," murmured one of the warriors in his native language. "He shall wish to see this...book."

The elf nodded. "Fine... Miraak, was it? If you must address me, my name-title is Scout Brazzelchond. You may travel with us to Nchardak. I will leave it to my captain to determine the worthiness of this...book. Follow."

One of the warriors shoved Miraak immediately, and the dragonborn very nearly pushed right back. However, Brazzelchond was already moving, and the dragonborn had no intentions of delaying over a silly shoving contest with an elf he couldn't care less about.

After a moment, the mer were surrounding him, escorting him. He scowled, face contorting under his mask. He felt more like a hostage than a potential ally with information. Miraak was not fond of feeling like a prisoner. However, he just had to deal with it, knowing that he had no real choice unless he desired to lose the chance he had created for himself. He focused on what Ahzidal had told him, knowing that he had to be adamant on this point, or these harsh elves would find him weak.

Fortunately, the dragonborn was not short on ability. He could fight, and he had more power from his daedric mentor. He knew his power was there to support him if his mortal words failed. It was one thing that made him superior to those like Vahlok, who relied solely upon how well they could weave their words to win their battles for them.

It wasn't long before the group crested a rise, and their eyes fell upon the great dwarven outpost. It sat among the waves just off the shores of the land, glimmering in the cold sea waters.

"This is Nchardak," Brazzelchond said. "A place of knowledge. I expect you to understand its significance."

"Do not worry," Miraak said. "I understand the significance of knowledge."

"Good."

The group descended the hill to the Dwemer outpost.

There was a single guard standing before a bridge of their yellow metal winding up to the gates. The sentinel tilted his head slightly, and his brethren returned the gesture. The guard said nothing, not even betraying any sign of curiosity at the human in their midst. Miraak knew it was surely not a typical occurrence, so the only other possibility was that the man was disciplined to stand, silent and imposing, alone in his duty.

Brazzelchond placed a cube upon a stand, which lit up, and the gates opened. He pushed his way through the large doors, and the escort followed. Miraak spent the next few minutes trying to comprehend what he'd just seen. Some type of magick? If so, it was a very unfamiliar kind.

Inside, Miraak gained his first impression of a Dwemer not suited in full armor from head to toe. The mer looked up from where he sat at a table, moving symbols about on a blue panel. The former dragon priest was actually impressed by the amount of hair that could have rivaled that of the human peasants of land. Of course, Miraak was sure that such a comparison would have offended the elf. He had a full beard that coated his lower face, dark brown that sat against unnaturally pale skin. The several foot length was braided, and it was also several inches thick, serving as a blanket of hair over his robed chest.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Scout Brazzelchond, why do you bring a human here?"

"He has something to offer, Captain Nebrec."

"Really? I do not expect it to be much. You are dismissed, Scout Brazzelchond." The dwemer scout and his patrol left without any hesitation, exiting the way they'd entered. Nebrec crossed the room, eyeing Miraak with a sharpness in his gaze. "Your likeness is oddly familiar, and...disconcerting, dragon-worshipper."

"I worship no one," Miraak responded readily, surprised with how patient he felt despite the need to repeat the statement. There was something oddly calming about being confronted with someone of sense and logic. At least, he hoped this mer was that. "I have cast the dragons aside," he stated.

"Indeed. How do you view the concept of worship now?" The captain blinked his burnt-golden gaze.

The way the man posed the question, Miraak suspected that this was some type of test. He thought carefully before answering, and almost swore aloud when the image of Vahlok's smug face appeared in his mind. How often had he tried to get Miraak to think and speak instead of fight, to try and come up with clever phrases to manipulate others? He mentally shrugged that reflection away, knowing a foul mood would not help him.

He finally said, "I view it as a need for the weak, the desire to follow something stronger than you - to want to think you are appreciated, and yet to realize that somehow, you are not. That is worship. It is pointless, and so I have rid myself of it."

The Dwemer's eyes gleamed. "Indeed? I'll admit to my surprise. I have never heard of a human casting aside the concept of worship." He raised his eyebrow. "Are humans changing, progressing? Perhaps you are the one who will help your kin realize how…" he seemed to search for a word, " _Primitive_ , they are."

"I have no kin," Miraak said.

"And so you cast the others out, giving up on the-" Nebrec stopped himself. "I digress, what do you have to offer me?"

"This," Miraak moved his arm covering his possession. He held the black book up for the other to see. Nebrec stepped back, eyes widening.

"Your likeness is to a daedra!" He hissed in realization. "Daedra! Human, you claimed to worship no one! I should have seen the truth in your robes and mask!"

Miraak blinked uncertainly, taking one hand from the book to remove his mask and push back the hood. "I do not worship the daedra!" He retorted. "I have taken the knowledge of this tome t-"

"To do so, you would need the author's permission. And he would only give it if you helped him. Your apparel radiate his very aura!"

Miraak let out a sigh. "I do not worship him. Truthfully, he asked little in return for this tome."

"You are led, then," Nebrec said. "You do not worship it as a god, though. I suppose...that _is_ something. Even a daedra is not a god. Still, as much as I detest the idea of a deal with those creatures, there is something to be learned in every place of knowledge." His eyes raked over the tome. His hand stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Yes, the entire race is devoted to learning. With the proper equipment and time, we could indeed gain much from such a book without sacrificing our minds to the one who created it."

"You want it, then?" Miraak said. "I have it, and it could be yours, if we can come to an agreement."

"I am wary," Nebrec said. "But this is Nchardak, not some war station from the south. I developed the plans for this place to help devote my clan to the study of knowledge. We are here, determined to advance our knowing. Although, that does not make us helpless. In fact, it is arguable we are one of the strongest outposts in this area."

"Indeed. Are you interested?"

"I would be lying if I said I was not."

"I know Ahzidal, perhaps you do to. He pointed me here."

"Ahzidal...yes, he studied for some time with one of the clans. Not mine, see, but it caused quite a stir. It is very uncommon to let someone not of our race study with us." His brow furrowed. "In fact, I hear he got impatient and left early. Such is the way of a human."

He eyed Miraak. "And you… You are a strange human. I can tell you do not lie. Years of body language study is all one needs, and it is something all captains know... I don't think I caught your name."

Miraak seized on the advantage, remembering that a dwemer speaking a name meant they had respect for the owner of it. "I am Miraak. Perhaps you have heard of me. I have been slaying dragons in this part of Skyrim for some time now."

"We did find dead dragons, stripped of their flesh and scales, Miraak. The ones that you didn't remove..." He smiled slightly. "That is amusing. Not only did you stop worshipping them, but you also started killing them." He nodded. "Not bad, Miraak. A dragon name is yours, yet you still fight."

Miraak, he'd said. He recognized his name. The former dragon priest knew he was gaining ground. He felt his confidence surge higher.

"Miraak is a dragon-name," the dragonborn agreed. "But now it is a name the dragons hate and fear. They know I will kill them, and the title they once thought controlled me, now brings them to the ground without mercy."

Nebrec actually laughed, his face relaxing. "Good, good. Walk with me, Miraak."

He turned and moved through a doorway. Miraak followed, holding his book. Together, the Dwemer and man passed into a grand hallway. Within was a large chamber, magnificent. The beautiful works of the Dwemer marked the walls, but their complex tube structures, pipes and symbol-covered surfaces made little sense to Miraak. He was impressed with such knowledge, even though he didn't understand it. It was the kind that made him realize that the Dragon Order understood little indeed.

"How do _you_ kill dragons, Miraak?" Nebrec asked after a moment of the man's admiring of the chamber.

"I take their souls." Miraak focused on the Dwemer again.

"Come again?"

"I take the dragon's soul. I am dragonborn, as it is known."

"You have the power to absorb a dragon's soul?" Oddly enough, the man didn't sound too surprised, just curious. "Do you have any idea where that power comes from?"

Miraak blinked, having expected a more startled response. Apparently, this man was quite at ease with unusual notions...unless he thought Miraak was lying. But hadn't he just said that he could tell when one was lying?

"No," Miraak replied, "but I have theories."

They paused before a console device upon a stone table. Nebrec tapped some of the numbers and symbols upon it, which Miraak struggled to understand. Finally, he turned to the dragonborn. "Interesting. What do you believe?"

"I believe, quite simply, with a twist of fate, that I have the soul of the dragon, but the body of a man."

"You believe it possible?"

"Yes, I believe it's true."

"You have the _Voice_ of a dragon, then, I suppose. I wouldn't mind seeing it." The Dwemer appeared truly interested.

"I do not mind showing it. MUL QAH DIIV!" He shouted, his favored dragon armor glowed to life around him. He smiled. "That is a thu'um, or dragon shout, Captain Nebrec. One of many."

"So I see." Nebrec nodded. "However, it does not necessarily make you...dragonborn, as you say. Any man or even elf can learn the voice if a dragon bothers to teach him. I heard there was one of my kin in the south who learned the thu'um. He tricked the dragon into believing he worshipped it. Quite a stir he created...mostly forgotten now. That was at least seven hundred years ago."

Nebrec turned back to the console, tapping away. "You are cunning, Miraak. You have played such a conversation well. I don't appreciate outsiders, especially humans, but _you_ are definitely different. If I had not gained respect for you throughout our speech, I may have killed you for coming here." There was a cold, uncaring tone to his words.

"You would have failed."

"Confidence...or arrogance? Both? I hear it in your words. Of course, I wasn't really referring to myself, either. _I_ would not have attacked you. It's much easier to let the well... auto-soldiers...take care of it. Still, you seem to understand our culture to an extent, and you have even shown respect for it. Highly unusual."

Miraak did not know what 'auto-soldiers' were, but he did not want to sidetrack the conversation now. He had an opening.

"Ahzidal taught me something of your ways, Captain." Miraak said. "I recognized that I was not very far different."

"And you took a risk."

"Nothing is gained without risk."

"True. Then, I suppose we should discuss the exchange?" Nebrec gestured to the book. "I should very much like to have that, Miraak. I respect you though, so I must follow our laws. You have a price for this book, I suspect. What is it?"

"Yes. My price should be simple enough. All I ask is for an edge against my enemies."

Nebrec turned his full attention to the other after touching the console a few more times. "You ask for allies? Or tools? Neither one is _simple enough_ , Miraak."

"What is in both of our interests?"

"I cannot grant you soldiers, or allies. That is the highest reward, and meant only for our own kin. Even Ahzidal was only given knowledge."

"I can use knowledge," Miraak said. "Knowledge always translates to power...and an edge."

"You are surprisingly wise, for a human anyway." Nebrec smiled, but it was cold and lacking in true emotion. "However, the simple terms mathematics and science more or less would be lost to you."

"Indeed."

"Here is my offer. I am willing to impart a week's worth of knowledge in any one subject."

"Two," Miraak said quickly. "Two weeks."

"Fine. Know that I will not allow you to leave Nchardak until then, to avoid confusion with the patrols."

"Fair enough. Tell me of the subjects."

"Mathematics and science. I can teach you of _why_ things work. At least, scratch the surface of it. This understanding would allow you to more effectively manipulate the world around you. The very concepts of existence give you the threshold of it. Understanding it will allow your magicka to work with it more adequately.

"Healing and philosophy. Learning of the body, mind and spirit will allow you greater control of yourself and your emotions. It will also enhance healing magicka. This grants the learner a deeper understanding of our beliefs. You will live on your willpower, and thus, it'll increase that strength. One may also explore the concepts of death in this field.

"Numbers and patterns. This is similar to Mathematics, but the concept is not of 'why' things work, but of 'how' they work. Knowing this will give you insight into the world's very creation, a wondrous thing many races take for granted.

"And last, but not least, I can teach you _of_ creation itself. Creation encompasses true alchemy, enchanting, smithing and many practical studies. While a very advantageous study, to be honest, there is not much to gain in a two week time period with this one, Miraak. It takes years for most of these skills to help you, but there are ways to make two weeks worth the time."

"That is a lot to think on."

"It is."

Miraak needed an edge, and it sounded like there was one of those fields of study that would give him a larger edge. "I will study of...mathematics and science. They are strange words, but hold important meaning."

"Yes. Come with me, Miraak. I will do my best to impart the amount of knowledge you need. First, we will examine the Adrenan Crystal. It is the best place to start, in my experience, especially given the circumstances..."

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul**_ \- _er, I still don't believe there's any. I haven't had any dragons talking for awhile, apparently. If I am ever missing any translations, then feel free to point it out if you're curious. :)_

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- I'll be honest. I feel this chapter is maybe a bit rife with my own head-canons, and that it may suffer from a lack of lore-knowledge on my part. Hopefully it reads alright. I try to target that 'logic and knowledge' part of the Dwemer more than anything when I write them, with subtle hints at their ruthless and cold efficiency. __And I confess to inventing the Adrenan Crystal. Just like I invented Moonsbane..._ :| _*poker face*_

 _Also, I want to point out that I changed the summary of the story because I felt that it could be better. Hopefully that didn't throw anyone off for any reason._


	21. Embrace Destiny

_**A/N**_ \- _Alright, so this chapter took a bit longer than normal for me to get out there. Quite simply, it's turned into my longest chapter yet at over 6,000 words! :O Needless to say, it took a bit more time to edit... It's been a long time since I've written such a long chapter..._

 _Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, and yet another head-canon coming up below!_

* * *

~D~

XXI. Embrace Destiny

(Mahlov Dez)

Vahlok swallowed, his face pulled into a grimace behind his mask. There was a corpse lying on the altar, brutalized beyond recognition. The body was covered in bruises and lacerations, the blood dried on peeled flesh. Bones jutted from nasty wounds, and it's side was split open, revealing discoloration underneath. Whether it had been male or female was completely indiscernible in its mutilated condition.

The sound of footsteps reached him, and he tore his revolted gaze away, turning it to a servant hurrying towards him. The young man was pale, his eyes carrying a haunted expression. His robes were dark black, stark on his skin. When he spoke, his speech was quick, fearful.

"Lord Hevnoraak will see you now, Lord Vahlok." His eyes darted, paranoid.

Vahlok responded through clenched teeth, trying to push down his rising anger. "Very well."

He followed the young man through the poorly-lit corridor. Small, cold, blue, magickal lights outlined the walls of the hall, barely penetrating the darkness, leaving it unwelcoming. He could feel the murkiness of each room and hallway they passed through, as if a kind of malicious magicka lingered in them. A twisted scream came from the distance, rebounding down the halls, echoing through the chambers, an eerie note. It made his guide jump and inhale quickly for a few moments. Vahlok shuddered, trying to contain his abhorrence.

Their destination was closer to the entrance than Vahlok expected. Not long after they had set out through the corridors and halls, they arrived in a large, grand room with a throne at the end. Here, a dark-robed man sat, wearing no mask - Hevnoraak. His throne room was illuminated by the same lights as those in the hallways, but also contained large, flaming braziers to provide more light. Vahlok heard the guide quickly excuse himself, as if to get as far away from his master in the shortest amount of time possible. The visiting priest removed his mask slowly, which was expected in another Dragon Council member's throne room. Still, he clutched it, wary and unwilling to stow it away in his robes, to make it harder to reach.

"Ah, Vahlok," Hevnoraak stated. He leaned against his throne languidly, voice deceptively sweet. "I'm pleased you found the time to visit, as I requested."

"What do you want, Hevnoraak? I'm a busy man now, what with this war."

"It has come to my attention that this _...rebellion_ could have been quelled long ago had we taken care of a certain...outlier." Hevnoraak's uncovered face turned to him. His skin was shockingly pale, almost white. Some of his long, dark, gray-streaked hair fell out from under his hood, tangled and unbothered. The lines on his face were more pronounced in the torchlight, flesh wrinkled in age, but stretched over hollow, gaunt cheeks. Still, there was a maniacal brightness in his eyes that defied his apparent age, an unnatural energy in a man aged more than many of his peers.

Vahlok met his dark gaze unflinchingly. "I suppose you want me to hear again how this is _my_ doing?"

"No, Vahlok," Hevnoraak mumbled. "I do not think you need to hear it again. What you do need to realize is that the longer you pretend you are not at fault, the more...catastrophic your _mistake_ becomes." He unsheathed a dagger at his hip, staring at it in the orange glow of the nearby flames reflected in its surface.

Vahlok leaned against his staff, refusing to be unnerved. "I see bigger problems closer to home. My _mistake,_ as you are so fond of saying, has already refused to help the rebels."

"You still keep contact with this...vax? This traitor?"

"No, it is obvious. He's too prideful to align himself with _peasants_. Even he knows he'd lose the little respect he has...which has become important to him."

"You should have ripped out his heart when you had the chance."

"Perhaps..." Vahlok's face was expressionless, giving away nothing.

"He has ignited a nationwide rebellion... The message was clear; the dovah could die by mortal hands. I do not like your carelessness." He stated frankly, digging the dagger into his thumb until it bled.

 _He's becoming angry._ Vahlok observed.

Hevnoraak stood up slowly, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, but he never broke eye contact with Vahlok. He raised his hand and sucked on his bleeding finger. He pulled it away after a few moments, face stretching into a grimace of pure agitation. Vahlok knew that he didn't care for the pain he'd just inflicted on himself. Most likely, he hadn't even noticed. He felt his annoyance trying to surface again, but he was practiced at reining in his feelings.

Vahlok, making his voice uncaring so as to give nothing away, quipped, "I shall endeavor to worry more about your feelings of the situation in the future."

"No, no, no...no, Vahlok. I don't want to hurt _you_. I want to hurt...and _kill_ Miraak... I want to slice his wrists and hang him from a hook!" He sheathed his weapon with a sharp click. "I want him screaming, and then begging for an end!" He took a deep breath, as though trying to overcome his anger. "We need to bring him down ourselves, as it seems most of the dovah are more concerned with useless peasants!" He spat. "Even though I do not like it, I need your cooperation..."

"My weapons are required elsewhere. Miraak will fall to his own power. He has allied himself to darkness."

"Really?" Hissed Hevnoraak, pacing now. "Then why is he growing in strength? Three of our most powerful priests have defected to his side already. How is this not a problem to anyone else besides me?" His fist slammed onto a bloodstained altar. "Peasants are nothing… but a man who can slay the dovah sends a signal that we of the Council are weak and incompetent! No one will DARE question my abilities! No one! Not the peasants, not you, not Miraak, and not the damned daedra he serves! The rebellion is nothing! Miraak is the problem!" His veins showed quite visibly.

Vahlok struggled to maintain his composure as he met those scorching eyes. He could feel the fury radiating from them. He knew that when Hevnoraak became angry, someone was going to pay the price. He didn't like the thought that _he_ might be that someone.

Calmly, though, he stated, "you have become obsessed with the traitor, Hevnoraak."

"Obsessed?"

"Yes. I agree that Miraak is troublesome, but our attention needs to be focused on the rebel leaders. Paarthurnax has taken to aiding them, as I'm sure you have heard. He's our more pressing problem. He is a very powerful dragon, and I cannot fathom why he would ally himself to them, but we-"

Hevnoraak interrupted with a serpentine hiss. "And a man with an unnaturally powerful thu'um, that has killed _piles_ of dovah, that serves a daedra lord is...merely troublesome?" Hevnoraak approached Vahlok, who tensed. He stood a few feet away, on the balls of his feet, tensed like a coiled snake, ready to strike. "You didn't see how he _tore_ the soul from a dovah that was clearly his better...it's something beyond magicka! Not only that, he survived a stab in the chest with vast amounts of blood loss, alone in the wilderness, and dosed with very potent poison. That, dear Vahlok, is beyond _troublesome_!"

Vahlok had to resist backing away. He knew showing any fear would definitely not help him now and would lose him any advantage he may have had in the conversation. He was glad for his years of training, able to keep his expression a stone mask despite whatever he might have been feeling.

He responded, trying to keep his tone reasonable. "Right, if he is keeping to himself for the moment - let him. We need to wait until our forces are not divided before we attack him, so that we can finish him. We don't need another failure in trying to defeat him, or we'll lose more dovah. He is obviously more powerful than you're willing to react to realistically."

"Realistically?! Letting him go now is not a realistic response to this problem! We kill him _now_!"

"He is too powerful for you, though, is he not? He escaped you."

Hevnoraak hissed, hands flexing, and for a moment, Vahlok thought he'd attack. Instead, the agitated priest turned slowly. He seemed to be grappling with the impulse to strike, struggling to gain control of his emotions. Much less relaxed, he returned to his throne.

"That is why I require your help," He muttered, voice cold as he leaned his elbows upon the arms of his seat. "Most will not aid me. Even those who first spoke of putting Miraak down have decided they have more pressing matters at the moment. Konahrik, our soft-hearted _warlord_ leader, is with them. The others...well they are all too weak. I haven't been able to contact Morokei, and I can't track him down, even though, the last I had heard of him, he was rallying the fighters in Bromjunaar Gaard. He will not respond to my letters."

"Then...what do you want?"

"Help me defeat Miraak. Again, I want you to know that I do not like admitting that I require your assistance."

Vahlok stared at the other priest, his eyes narrowed in distrust. "I don't like this, Hevnoraak."

"You are not required to."

"Let's say I do help you. What exactly is your plan?"

"Lord Juskkeinfaaz and a few other dovah have agreed with me, surprisingly. Juskkeinfaaz Thuri is willing to set aside some resources for this as long as it is a quick mission. Convince the dovah you are directly worshipping to help you. You're good with persuasion, am I wrong? In a swift overnight journey, we reach the north, we corner Miraak in his own temple, and catch him by surprise."

Vahlok frowned. "That's not going to work!"

Hevnoraak ignored him and continued, "I will move in first, draw him out. I will also weaken him with my magicka. I have a particularly immaculate spell for this mission. He will be weakened. Thuri Juskkeinfaaz and the dovah will attack him. While he's distracted, we deliver the killing blow."

"And what of his followers?"

"I've heard they've...well, my informants state that he has lost many of them. Many were peasants that wished to assist in the southern rebellion. And the defected priests? None of them are as powerful as Miraak. We bring him down, and they won't stand a chance."

Vahlok exhaled, realizing he wasn't going to get through to this deranged man. "Why should I help you, Hevnoraak?"

Hevnoraak smiled darkly, tone sweetening again. "Well, my dear Vahlok, I will tell you why, in case you are far more imbecilic than I remember. If you don't help me, then I will incarcerate you here, and...let us say... _encourage_ you to change your mind."

There was a loud noise, a roar, that rumbled through the temple. The entire room shook, and the sound of crashing claws scraping the roof reached their ears. Whoever owned those claws was very large.

"Lord Juskkeinfaaz is here." His smile grew. "What's the problem, Vahlok? ...don't tell me you refuse, not when everything is lining up so neatly."

Vahlok was scowling. Then, he let that fall away, emptying his expression. "Fine, Hevnoraak. I don't wish to waste my energy fighting you." He ignored the savage grin breaking out on the other's face, the one that never reached those dark eyes. "However," He said, trying to break the look of victory on the other's face. It worked.

"What?" Hevnoraak asked, looks twisted with fresh annoyance.

"You must let _me_ be the one to kill Miraak." He let that statement hang in the air.

"...Why the change of mind?"

Vahlok closed his eyes. "He is my mistake, as you say… He has always been."

"Very good, I'm glad you agree with me...now, there's some other details we must go over. Then, we will meet Lord Juskeinfaaz. I imagine he is getting impatient."

* * *

Miraak focused upon the world around him, his thoughts pulled inward to the feeling of his magicka. The world was _alive_ , he knew, thrumming with the power he felt burning in his veins but also around him in the air, the trees, the sky. He felt so different now, capable of seeing existence shifting as the currents of magicka that flowed through it, powerful. He had learned that reality was entirely different than he'd anticipated. He knew so much, all gained from a short two weeks with the Dwemer. Hermaeus Mora had not been wrong about the edge it would give him. He almost regretted doubting his mentor.

"Magicka…" he muttered, remembering what Nebrec had said. "The will and the ability to change the world's composition. That is all it is."

He stood in a small grove, the gentle swaying of the trees surrounding him nearly mesmerizing now that he could sense the power in their very composition - _life_. The snow fell gently from the sky, flurrying as softly as down feathers drifting from a bird's nest, faint with their own compositions that could be manipulated. He knew he had never appreciated the world in such a way before. He had never recognized that his own power was only possible because of that which was around him.

With everything he had earned, and everything he now knew, he regretted none of it. He knew that his destiny was his, and he would soon claim it, face it, and embrace it. And he knew it would not be long now.

The stars were not out, but it was not dark here. The whiteness of the snow easily reflected even the smallest sources of light, however faintly it shone, choked out by the clouds above. As he observed the world, he became aware of another person nearby. He turned, his attention focused upon them.

Dukaan approached him. How she had found him here, he wasn't certain, but he did not ask.

"I'm here to request permission to leave," she announced without preamble. "Not, your service, see, but your temple, as did the others."

He looked at her, his eyes betraying surprise from under his mask. He finally registered that she wore her own mask, its silver edges glinting in the light.

"Leave?" He echoed. "Ahzidal and Zahkriisos had the right idea, in your eyes? Not to mention over two-thirds of the workers and warriors who left for the south to join the rebellion?"

"I don't know what they sought. Frankly, I don't care," she adjusted her mask, looking away for a moment. "I want to create a temple for myself. I want to be remembered beyond all of this."

"I see. Then we can create a temple for you...but you don't have to leave. I could help you."

She scowled, looking directly at him and narrowing her eyes. "I'm reasonably certain that you didn't help the others with their pursuits."

"And I am certain that you do not know what they wanted," Miraak replied evenly, staring at her mask.

In annoyance, she pushed at the snow with her foot. "You really expect me to believe that you gave them this trouble?"

He said nothing for a moment. "You should not have changed your name," he stated unexpectedly.

An unhappy chuckle escaped her. "You do not know me well, do you?"

"Perhaps not," Miraak said. "But my perception is _not_ off this time."

"Thank you...I appreciate it. However, history will remember me as dishonor."

"History has a bad memory," Miraak said. "You don't need to feel regret… I want you to understand that you have no more dishonor than I. We saw opportunity and took it. Serving the dragons was wrong."

"Serving the dragons was wrong, maybe, but I had a duty to them. I abandoned it on chance that it was wrong." She looked down again. "Unlike you, I feel like I have no purpose now."

"You have the purpose of being who you are...Zin."

"Then I have a problem, don't I?"

"No, you simply invented a problem so that you may say something that sounds wise on it." He stood before her, closer than before, his green robes as eerie and unsettling as she remembered. Her gaze fixed on his mask.

"I have been called...dramatic before," she admitted. They stood silently for a moment. Then, she whispered, "Like water and fire, the worlds collide and spring away, hissing, burned by one another."

"What was that?"

"A fragment of...a poem."

"What is the full poem?"

"It'd be of no interest to you, I am sure."

"I know a poem. Tell me yours, and I will tell you mine."

She felt nervous, which she instantly disliked. Nervousness did _not_ suit her. Worse still, she was uncertain as to why she felt that way. What could possibly be unnerving about telling this man a poem - a simple, harmless, pointless poem?

"If you insist." She recited, "Two worlds stand, far apart, reaching, but never alert. The wind blows a winter gale through the trees. A springtime bird takes the sky away. The summer dries thoughts into the dust. Autumn leaves spiral down, leaving memories beyond. Reborn, the worlds reach. Like water and fire, the worlds collide and spring away, hissing, burned by one another." She nodded inwardly to herself. That wasn't so bad, so why did she still feel nervous?

"Do you understand its meaning?" He asked.

"I do." She did not elaborate to him, and hoped that he did not ask her to. Thankfully, he did not.

He said, "My poem is...well, my mother used to tell it to me quite often… She said it was mine." He cleared his throat. "Allegiance guide. Replace the cold dying light. Save us with warm white. Give us a chance to see, the old world that thrives where new should spring. Take heart… That world will cease to be."

"And you understand its meaning?" She returned his question, her heart pounding for no reason whatsoever. She hoped she wasn't showing her unease.

"I do."

"Allegiance guide...Mir-aak. About you. Your mother understood your destiny… Do...do you find that odd?"

"I do not know what to think of it. Somehow, she knew, and that is enough for me. What is important, is that I now know what that destiny is."

"I-I...see."

" _Are_ you leaving?" He asked, stepping closer.

She tensed, her stomach knotting inexplicably. She could not tear her gaze away from his, even though she wanted to. He was far too close! She silently cursed her nerves. What was wrong with her?

The sound of beating wings carried through the air, and both looked up. Instantly, Miraak tensed, rage boiling in his chest. Dukaan would have been relieved for the distraction, if she were not also instantly ready for battle.

"Drem yol lok," the dragon greeted, flapping its wings to stay aloft above them. "I come in peace."

Miraak felt pure disbelief. He recognized this dragon. It was Alduin's brother!

 _Has he changed his mind?_ He wondered for a moment before the dovah's words sunk in. _No… Peace?_

Paarthurnax peered down at the mortals that had been dubbed traitors. One was the dovahkiin, the dragonborn, he could smell it in the blood in his veins, sense it in the soul in his body. Miraak was his name, he recalled. The other mortal had a scent he remembered from the Council; one of three that had defected to Miraak's side. He didn't know her name. The dragon eyed them, curiosity within his heart. He knew, as he'd known before, that with Miraak, he was not speaking with just any mortal that had come before him; he was speaking to a dovah.

"Peace?" Exclaimed the dragonborn. He burst into a scathing laughter, "and so the great and mighty Paarthurnax, brother of Alduin, is afraid of me?"

"Afraid?" Paarthurnax snorted. "No...ni faas...not fear. I wish to speak. Tinvaak between two of the _dov,_ from one respected warrior to another."

"No dragon has ever wanted peace from me, except for those who were afraid of death. Why would I _want_ to speak to you?"

"Yes, Hakon did say that you were headstrong…" The dragon said thoughtfully. "I wish to discuss...you, dovahkiin. What that means."

"Let him speak," the woman murmured. "Paarthurnax has aided the rebels. He is as much of a traitor to the Dragon Order as we are now. I don't believe he's here to fight."

Miraak looked at her, hesitating. "He does not seem very treacherous, does he? But this _is_ Paarthurnax, Alduin's brother."

"I want to speak of the truth of my brother Alduin," Paarthurnax said. "And of you, dovahkiin."

"Fine," Miraak conceded. "If there is any trickery, I will kill you like all the others."

Paarthurnax landed, the ground shuddering. "Yes, headstrong indeed. You remind me of Odahviing."

"What do you want to speak about, dragon?" Miraak asked, tensing as the brother of Alduin looked upon them.

"Patience. Prem. We have not greeted each other, as befitting of two dovah," Paarthurnax said. "I will not be so rude to you, dovahkiin."

Miraak felt irritated. "I am not a dragon. I am nothing like you."

"Are you not?" Paarthurnax asked. "You feel the allure of power. Suleyk. You are mul...strong, and you neh sahto...you will never back down. You will not show fear. Stubborn. Rahgron. It is easy to feel anger. Qualities of a dovah. You have dovah sos ahrk dovah sil, nuz jul buld."

"What is your point?"

"If not for your dovah side, then will exchange pleasantries with a fellow vax, rebel, to the Dragon Order? Or will you refuse that?"

The woman whispered, "he is surely no enemy."

Miraak looked into the face of the dragon before him, completely struggling to understand what was happening. This creature was not looking down upon him. It was treating him like an equal! The cruel overlord Paarthurnax looked nothing like the wicked, self-proclaimed god he remembered. There was no harshness or anger in his voice, no superiority. Looking upon him now, he seemed...friendly, and he would never have assigned such a word to the dragon without good reason.

 _He is seeking something._

Miraak felt a compulsion from his inner dragon. He had not felt that for some time, for he'd found the balance with the dovah inside. However, it did not feel different from him now; there was still that stability he had achieved. Instead of conflicting with him, the dragon felt like him, like an older version of himself, only accessible because of his dragon soul. He did not completely understand, but he felt strangely calm around Paarthurnax.

 _Equal._ The dragon seemed to explain. _I am an equal. Every other dragon has looked down upon me, and that made me outraged. To be recognized as worthy of respect has soothed my anger._

Miraak relented. "So be it. Let us greet one another."

"Back away, joor," the dragon said to the other mortal. "This is not a greeting for those outside the dov." When she had done as he had requested by retreating several steps away, Paarthurnax reared his head, eyes glinting with fire. A bright glow burned in his chest. He opened his jaws and shouted, "YOL!"

Miraak had never been greeted by a dragon before, and had his instincts not assured him that this was an attack, he may have responded as such. Instead, he accepted the greeting and felt the warmth of the flames, scorching hot. They did not harm him, though, and he felt his dragon soul revel in the greeting, pleased to be accepted as such. It struck him how odd it was to feel so grateful to be welcomed. He felt strangely empowered by the other's thu'um simultaneously.

He stood, unable to stop the amusement that planted a smirk firmly upon his face. "That is your greeting?" He questioned.

"Yes. Now let me taste _your_ fire, dovahkiin!"

"And so I will!" Miraak allowed his power to flare, the dragon in him rearing itself. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" He responded.

The wave of fire washed over the dragon's face. He rumbled joyfully, shifting his weight to his legs. He beat his wings in the air, throwing snow. "Dovahkiin! Dovahkiin, indeed!" He exclaimed, lowering back onto them. "It has been long since I have been properly greeted by a dovah. Those in the Dovah Relahmik, the Dragon Order, have long since feared my rank to dare greet me as an equal, and now I am traitor to them." He snorted, smoke pluming above his nostrils.

The woman slowly approached again, eyeing Miraak with a look of awe and respect. She'd removed her mask. "That was a first for me," she whispered, looking to the dragon.

"What is your name?" Paarthurnax asked, looking directly at the former priest.

"Duka-"

"Zin," Miraak interrupted. "She is Zin. Honor."

"Zin." the gray dragon said welcomingly to her. "Unslaad krosis. I cannot greet you so formally,"

Again, Dukaan stared at Miraak for a minute, then back at the dragon. She said, "I understand."

Miraak asked the dragon. "You wished to talk? What about?"

"Akatosh," responded the dovah promptly, shifting slightly.

"Akatosh?" Miraak returned. "That sounds familiar. I feel as if I have heard such a name." Inwardly, the dragon stirred at the word.

"Akatosh is bormah...our father, dovahkiin, though we have forgotten him."

"Ours?" Miraak echoed.

"Ours. Akatosh created the dovah...created Alduin and I. He created you, _dovah-_ kiin." He put emphasis on the 'dragon' in Miraak's title.

The dragonborn said, "What nonsense are you speaking?" Still, his inner dragon felt it was truth, even as his stubborn side wished to ignore it.

"You do not have to believe it, for it will only be a matter of time before you sense his presence. The more attuned with tiid...time you become, the more the father of it becomes apparent." Paarthurnax said. "Seeing you, dovahkiin, reminded me of a time when I was very young...goraan. When Alduin was the crown of Akatosh's creation."

"What do you mean?"

"You were his message to me," Paarthurnax responded. "I realized it, and it made me rahgron...angry at first because I refused to believe that Akatosh still watched over his children...Tol bormah ulaak fah ok kiirre. I ordered the priests to oversee your dinok...death, dovahkiin, but they failed. That was when I remembered what was; Alduin had strayed. We had strayed, and we had not even noticed." He hung his head slightly. "I was ashamed. Zopaak do dov. I flew through the skies of Vus...of Nirn, until I remembered. I immediately sought out and spoke with the rebels…"

"What exactly...did you remember?"

"That there was a time when Alduin was not the doom he had chosen for himself. Ok vorey tet. He was once the ideal that all dovah strove for...until he was corrupted. He in turn corrupted the dovah. This corruption will always be, unslaad Alduin." Paarthurnax's voice was sorrowful. "I had forgotten how we once were. Father did not intend corruption, and I do not know how it started. Perhaps in Alduin's pride, a being such as the firstborn dragon on Nirn would change from such…"

"You're saying," Miraak responded slowly, not bothering to hide his disbelief. "That Alduin was not always so cruel and monstrous? That the dragons were not always this way?"

"Yes…"

"But it is the dragons' very nature to destroy and conquer!"

"Because Alduin made it so, in his hunger for power. We have forgotten, but perhaps there was a time when we resisted changing. Or perhaps we changed so slowly, we did not notice. I do not remember...but I do know that we were once truly glorious. When Alduin turned, that changed. It is now that I realize that we cannot continue on this course, or we will face destruction. Dov fen oblaan. That is why I chose to help the rebels. Alduin has corrupted us, but he has not completely corrupted joor eylok. Mortal-kind." He sounded even more morose. "I knowingly help to bring an end to Alduin and all dovah if necessary. Akatosh is ashamed - all of the aedra are. Stahdim eyra. It is my duty, to do what is right, though it brings me no joy."

Zin whispered, "You believe the dragons unable to be saved?"

"Alas, I do not know… I will do all I can to see Alduin destroyed. If we succeed, I will try to remind the dovah of what was, and perhaps Father will forgive. However..." He looked at them keenly. "Dovahkiin, I believe Bormah gave you to us to show that it is time for the dov to withdraw from this world. That is why you bring death to us."

Miraak stared at the dragon, feeling a strange sorrow wash over him. He was sure that it came from his soul - his dragon soul, recognizing the end of its kind. He felt true remorse, looking upon the dragon framed in the falling snow. Still, he knew it was right, necessary, and that remorse did not reach his skin, but stayed within him.

"Then fate has decreed," Miraak said. "I am surprised that you admit this… Paarthurnax."

Paarthurnax exhaled, his breath sending eddies of snow from the ground. "As am I. If nothing else, Dovahkiin. I believe that you are the sign that Alduin can fall. That you...were meant to slay him."

"And so I shall."

Paarthurnax let out a surprised huff. "Hakon said that you would not fight him."

"I said I would not fight Alduin _with_ the rebels. They are far too violent to be given the power that will be left in the wake of the World-Devourer's death. If they liberate Skyrim, it will fall to chaos."

"Careful, dovahkiin," the dragon responded calmly. "Do not let the dragonblood form such thoughts in your head. That is what made Alduin fall - the need to control others."

Miraak shook his head, feeling frustration. "I will not let the world plummet into such blood-filled chaos again. The sacrifices, the wars, the fear. It will end. I may have dragonblood, but I am not immortal. It sounds as if Alduin's immortality corrupted him. Imagine, had he been meant for death, he would probably not have been altered...there wouldn't have been time for that."

"Hmmm… Yes, you are not of mind of the dovah, even if you are of body and soul. Perhaps that would protect the world from corruption, knowing that if one did become corrupt, he will eventually face death."

"When the Dragon Order has fallen, Alduin shall die by my hand as well," Miraak said. "That is my destiny now."

"The entire dov will feel his end. I cannot begin to know the consequences."

"I feel it is meant to be, do you not?"

"Yes...still, I am wary, as you should be." Paarthurnax dipped his head. "I sense great change coming, dovahkiin. Prepare yourself.

Zin spoke, her voice as gentle as the falling snow. "We will do what we can, Paarthurnax. I will endeavor to see us succeed," she looked at Miraak. "To see Miraak succeed... Dovahkiin. Dragonborn."

Miraak looked into her face, and a jolt of surprise and realization ran through him. She looked strangely unreserved, her usual icy facade absent. There was an assurance there, and despite everything, she looked as if she had just had a revelation. Miraak knew that she would not leave his side, and he felt a warmth in his chest, of gratitude...and something else that he could not identify.

"Thank you, Zin."

"I will take my leave," Paarthurnax said. "Perhaps we will speak again. Vonok, Dovahkiin. Aal dez kos hin zeymahzin." He spread his swings, sweeping the ground and throwing snow into the air. He flapped a few times to gain the sky and spiraled away, silent in the snowy night.

Miraak realized that his hand clasped Zin's. He looked into her eyes, not certain who had actually initiated the hand-holding. With his free hand, he reached up and seized his mask. He felt the drop of power as he pulled it off, but he didn't care. He tossed it to the side, listening to it thump in the snow.

He was fixed upon her eyes, and he found that he missed the way they glittered when the stars and moons were not veiled by clouds. He wanted to see them sparkle with light again, here and now. He closed his eyes and focused upon the snow around them, manipulating the magicka they held with ease. He opened his eyelids. The falling snowflakes glowed, like stars, and Zin's eyes glittered the way he'd wanted.

She laughed at that, a clear undistorted sound of strange joy. She wore no mask, metaphorical or physical, and neither did he; their true faces were both exposed. He pulled her close and kissed her, unable to stop the impulse while she was so close, so bright. After a moment, he pulled back to stare once more into her shining eyes. She giggled, her face flushed, showing a side of her he hadn't known. Truthfully, he also felt a side of _himself_ he hadn't known.

"Stay with me," he murmured, breathless. "And we shall rule an empire. This world of tyrants and false gods will cease to be. I do not have to face it alone, I sincerely hope."

"I will stay. I want it. I want you," she responded, hanging onto him, letting go of her former nervousness. She'd already determined that before, she hadn't yet come to terms with her feelings. Now, she knew exactly how she felt. "I will stay with you…for as long as we live." She laughed again, voice clear.

She pressed their lips together again, and not long after, they were back at the temple, collapsed upon his bed. It was cold. No fire had been lit in the brazier yet, but neither felt the chill. No, not when they were ready to spend such a night, embraced by desire and hope. Both had found something they had not known they would find, and they wanted it so dearly.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul translations -** (the dragons are back!) :D_

 _Vax - traitor_  
 _Thuri- my overlord_  
 _Drem Yol Lok - Peace, Fire, Sky_  
 _Dov - Dragonkind_  
 _Ni Faas - Not fear_  
 _Tinvaak - Talk/Speech_  
 _Prem - Patience_  
 _Suleyk - Power_  
 _Mul - Strong_  
 _Neh sahto - Never quit_  
 _Rahgron - Angry_  
 _Dovah sos ahrk dovah sil, nuz jul buld - Dragon blood and dragon soul, but man shape._  
 _Dovah Relahmik - Dragon Order_  
 _Unslaad krosis - Apologies(literal translation is: Unending sorrow. However, Paarthurnax employs this as a way of apologizing in-game)_  
 _Bormah - Father_  
 _Tiid - Time_  
 _Goraan - Young_  
 _Tol bormah ulaak fah ok kiirre - That father cared for his children_  
 _Dinok - Death_  
 _Vus - Nirn_  
 _Zopaak do dov. - Shameful of dragonkind._  
 _Ok vorey tet - His other title._  
 _Dov fen oblaan - Dragonkind will end._  
 _Joor Eylok - Mortalkind(literal: Mortal Species)  
Stahdim eyra - Holy aedra  
_Vonok, Dovahkiin. Aal dez kos hin zeymahzin - Farewell, Dragonborn. May fate be your companion.


	22. Bend Will

~D~

XXII. Bend Will

(Kreh Jah)

Miraak felt unease within himself. He was uncertain for once in a long time. True, he had doubted his powers and destiny before, but the path had always seemed clearly defined, even when he had chosen incorrectly. At first, he'd been certain his fate was to join and serve the immortal dovah as their priest, and he had accomplished that, risking his life to rise through the ranks of the Dragon Order. Now, it seemed clear that he was to defy those dragons he had once served and bring death to them for their corruption. Ultimately, he knew he was supposed to change the world.

No, his unease did not come from that. It came from the warmth and appreciation he felt now, and he was unsure of what it meant. He had not felt this way before. Or if he had, it'd been so long ago that it had passed from his memory. Perhaps, in a long distant past, he'd once felt this for his family. More recently, he'd been pleased to have Tovitaa's support, but he had not felt grateful just to have her as a sister. He did not consider her a friend...merely a reliable ally through the years of knowing and trusting one another. Now, he regretted that he had thought of her as little more than a constant in his life that he'd taken for granted.

It was odd, he realized. The high Dragon Council priests were forbidden to have families. Vahlok had broken that rule, he now knew. But why? Had he felt so joyful just being in his mother's company that he had been willing to take such a risk? Had she felt that way about him, about her family? If so, then why had she truly left? He'd once told Tovitaa he believed their mother had left because of fear... Had fear really driven her from her family? There was so much he didn't know, he had discovered, so he doubted his explanation. What he did know for sure, was that he felt warmth being in Dukaan's presence. Her loyalty made him happy...almost proud, of himself, of her, and of all he had accomplished.

 _It is a foreign feeling. I am uncertain of how to respond, but I will do all I can to ensure I do not somehow fail. I will learn what it means._

He thought this in a contemplative silence as he looked upon the arena from the top of the temple where a few guards patrolled, always keeping a respectful distance. He paid them no mind as he delved into his thoughts beside the stone railing. His hands held his mask loosely. He'd finally collected it that morning from where he had dropped it in the snow previously.

He didn't hear her, but she soon made herself known. Dukaan walked forward to stand beside him, her mask also absent from her face. There was a certain easiness with which she faced him now. Still, he could sense that the feelings were as new to her as they were for him. It showed in her expression.

Without preamble, she said, "I was born to one of the wandering tribes, where I spent much of my younger life."

"Indeed?" He returned, surprise flitting across his face for a moment. He had never pictured Dukaan as ever being a nomadic tribeswoman.

"It's true," she said, smiling a little at his reaction. "They were my family... The tribe taught me things the Dragon Order would not want any of its priests to know. The things they'd rather we had forgotten, wiped from our minds. It was why the priests so openly scorned the tribes, mocking them with angry words. But my family once taught me about empathy, compassion. They taught love. The Dragon Order pushed down those feelings; they wanted those who could kill without a single thought. I willingly lost myself to that...and I called it honor."

"Why did you leave the tribes? Did you grow tired of their wandering lifestyle?"

"It wasn't that... I left them when I found my powers growing. I wanted to develop them, so I joined the priests because they were the greatest at teaching magicka. However, I fell to the desire to prove myself, not knowing that I had forgotten who I was and what I'd known. I became the magicka I prefer to use - ice. I have not seen the tribe in over a decade. I calculated it this morning... I was very young when I left."

Miraak turned to her, eyes questioning. "What brought this to mind, then?"

"You did," she replied. "I couldn't remember the last time I felt so strongly for another. And it wasn't until I recalled the family that I had left, that I became unsure of whether I had ever felt such a way or not. I still don't remember..."

"I understand..." he replied. It was odd how he'd been thinking along such similar lines. "The Dragon Order wanted us to not be humans anymore. They wanted slaves who imposed their will through faceless masks and heartless wills. They wanted those who could not possibly empathize."

"Then we agree that must change?" Dukaan asked. "Tyranny has destroyed so much, reduced us to fear and dishonor. You heard Paarthurnax...Alduin must end. He must be destroyed...and soon."

"I do agree," Miraak said. "I hope to annihilate the Dragon Order and guide those of my future empire in a pursuit for understanding. We will not have these pointless ceremonies, rituals and sacrifices to false gods. We will work to find knowledge. We will work to understand...and our destiny as a whole can be discovered. That is what is important and honorable."

She nodded. "There is...something else..." she said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"It is..." she smiled again, withdrawing something from her pocket. She held a small. leather cord decorated with two sharp fangs of an animal. "These are the teeth of a wolf..." She offered it to him.

He took the cord, uncertain. "Why?" He asked simply.

"Wolves are pack animals, and even for all of their savagery, in the tribe they represented family. A token made of the bones or teeth of a wolf, given to another...was to signify family. Given to those outside of a family...indicated a lifelong commitment between giver and receiver...should they accept the gift, of course." She clasped her hands behind her back, watching him closely.

"Were they rejected often?"

"Normally, no. One did not typically give such a gift unless they were certain of the other's reaction." She raised her eyebrows.

He held the cord up, studying the teeth upon it and taking in the simplicity of the item. A gift given within the Dragon Order was typically fancy, mainly amongst priests. Metals, especially gold, and rich fabrics were used to make glittering and comfortable items to flaunt status and power. This bone necklace, however, was rather crude, but its significance was incredible. The gift was not complex, but its meaning was far from simple.

Dukaan continued. "You said...we would rule an empire...and I thought you would appreciate this as a response."

After a moment, Miraak asked, "This means you will stay with me?"

"Yes. Of course. I thought I made that intention clear."

"I do appreciate it." He slipped the necklace over his head, letting the fangs rest in plain view upon his robes. "I have nothing like this to give in return except for a promise, the solemn promise that I will make this world better - with you by my side."

"Thank you. It is up to us, is it not? - To see this through, for good or ill."

"Yes."

For a moment, they stood silently, and then Dukaan questioned, "What is our next move?"

Miraak thought for a moment. He responded, "I will eventually begin killing high priests. Whenever the peasants' rebellion starts to wind down, I will use the opportunity to give hope to those remaining. I will find dragons and men alike who will stand against the Order. I will do anything that I must. Alduin will not stand the fury of those he wronged. We will cleanse the world of his corruption."

"We must do what is necessary... How do we begin?" She asked. Her face had morphed back into its usual mask of thoughts and planning of the future.

"I am waiting on information I sent a few of the loyal followers to collect." Miraak said. "I also have men assessing Hevnoraak's weaknesses as we speak. Without Diiviizkren, he is at a disadvantage. However, I refuse to underestimate him this time; I will be careful. Also, I am trying to track down the dragons of the other temples, as I am the one with the greatest edge against them. Their deaths will impact the Order's strength greatly, allowing us to target more High Priests."

"I see..." She nodded. "At least it gives us a way to start. We should compile the information we have now, Miraak. I don't suppose Hermaeus Mora can give us any more information? I think we will do well to assess any and all possible advantages."

"Hmm... Hermaeus Mora is the daedra of secrets. Unless the enemy's fortifications are a secret, that may not work... However, there must be some secrets we can exploit for our benefit against the dragon priests..."

The two made their way back to the temple, already churning various strategies in their minds with the meager amount of info they had. It was a start, and it felt like the right course of action. However, Miraak still felt he was missing something. He knew he must return to Hermaeus Mora's realm. It was inevitable that he must once again call upon the library's knowledge...and for more reasons than what Dukaan had suggested.

 _Zin...I will think of her as Zin,_ he decided. _Honor._

"Zin," he said when they stepped into the darkness of the temple. "Perhaps you can do me a favor. As you know, we will soon begin preparing for another attack. You could find Ahzidal and Zahkriisos..."

"You said they were surveying for land to create temples... They would not have gone far, I am confident... I can track them down easily enough. Afterall, they do answer to you."

"Very good."

* * *

Miraak looked upon the lord of Apocrypha, whose realm he now stood within. "When I was here last, you rewarded my efforts with the words of power to a powerful thu'um. However, I have been unable to unlock the meaning of the last word. I have been searching for it, but... No," He snapped, struggling with his temper. "I cannot find it, and yet I know it is here. Every time I get close to discovering it, it is almost as if it flees my reach. I can sense it just beyond my grasping fingers... This... It must be your doing!"

He'd spent some time here, collecting secrets that could only benefit. Now, he sought something else, something that had continually eluded him for some time. He sought the power of the mighty Bend Will shout, a shout that could compel any he wished to do his bidding, be they dragon or man. Or, it would if he knew how to use it.

Hermaeus Mora hung in the air above him, his tentacles shifting lazily in the green sky. Somehow, he seemed to take enjoyment from his servant's frustration; an undertone of amusement laced his words. "Miraak. Perhaps you have not yet learned that within my realm, you'll find knowledge challenges you to find it. If you are not worthy, you will not find what you seek. You _should_ know this already..." His large eye shifted, tentacles curling in unison for a moment before relaxing again.

Miraak gritted his teeth. "I _am_ worthy!" The dragonborn turned towards the hairy seeker that waited at his side. "You there, again, I need every text in the dragon language that matches with the shout. Find me the knowledge to begin my comprehension of Dov as it is in the Bend Will shout." He gestured at the creature agitatedly.

It drifted off. Miraak followed. "Mentor, I must have this knowledge, or I will fail. If these creatures are the source of the inadequacy, I expect measures to be taken t-" He stopped, realizing himself.

"Relax, Miraak," whispered the daedra. "Your words should perhaps be...more contained... You forget Apocrypha is unalike when compared to your own world."

"Of course, it is your realm, I should stop treating it like Mundus. I know this." Miraak shook his head, pushing away his agitation to the best of his ability. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Apologies, Teacher."

"It is always entertaining to watch you search through my secrets, Miraak."

The former priest stomped up a steep flight of stairs in pursuit of the Seeker. He turned into a twisting corridor where the walls extended forward, increasing the distance he had to cover. Apocrypha seemed design to stoke his agitation, he thought in annoyance during his pursuit. The Seeker stopped, hovering for a moment. It sank through the floor. The floor was solid when he stepped up to it, testing it with his boot. He had no idea why the creature had simply disappeared.

"What is this trickery?!" Miraak growled. "This is not even a puzzle! It is a solid floor!" He sighed, running his hand down the new mask. He traced its shape and nodded slowly. He was the champion of Hermaeus Mora. He could find a few elusive secrets. "Seeker," he commanded. "Return to me."

The Seeker reappeared, holding a book in it's hands.

Miraak hesitated. "This had better not be another piece of nothing." He snatched the book, and stared at it. The cover was blank, and when he opened it, the pages were also blank. "If this is a trick, I am not amused by it," he muttered.

The Seeker drifted on, and he followed, though he was beginning to doubt he was going to find what he searched for by following this thing. Through a maze of tunnels, he continued. Finally, he ended up in a circular chamber with metal walls interwoven with paper. The Seeker delved into a pool of green slime at the room's center. Miraak approached this pool hesitatingly. Reaching forward, he touched it with his foot. The effect was instant. An odd tugging sensation pulled on him as if it were trying to steal his very strength. He yanked his foot back before he could fell forward into the dark water.

Miraak was reasonably certain he wasn't supposed to follow his guide into there. He waited, but the Seeker did not reappear.

"Seeker!"

Something moved in the green liquid. A large, dark green ball emerged, fleshy in appearance. Miraak scowled in irritated bewilderment. The eyelids parted and a double-pupiled eye stared at him, almost taunting. It also seemed...smug. Yes, Miraak felt the eyeball of Hermaeus Mora was definitely smug.

"He's gone," Hermeaus said.

"I grow tired of this game. Why won't you let me find this information?"

"Miraak...I cannot let you have what you did not earn."

"How have I not earned it?"

"You need to learn first...what is this realm...and then you will be given a way to find what you seek."

"What does that mean?"

"It means...you are too eager to act as if my world...is yours."

"Fine," Miraak muttered. "If I cannot think of it correctly, than how should I fix this problem?"

"Quite simply...Miraak...you must begin by thinking of how you should unlock the word of power," Mora replied. "It take's an understanding of submission to control it. You will never find it, otherwise."

Miraak frowned. _I must understand submission? How could I not?_

Indeed, how could he, Miraak, son of Vahlok, former dragon priest, and now dragonborn, not understand submission? Submission was part of the order of the world, which he knew well. Did not the weak bow to the strong, recognizing it? And if it should happen that the weak was actually stronger, he challenged the strong, and took their place. What was he missing?

He paced dejectedly in the circular chamber, his eyes not really seeing where he was going. His head was filled with many thoughts. For all of the time he'd wasted here, he could have been achieving something. His frustration was making it hard to solve this odd riddle.

"Perhaps you require...a hint..." the daedric lord said quietly. "Is it obvious that you must think differently of the matter. Learning a shout...is about...understanding what you are trying to accomplish...completely. That is why the dragons do not learn this shout very often... Their view on submission...is as askewed as your own. If you keep thinking of the word _submission_ like a dovah, you'll never learn a shout they do not."

 _Of course. Fighting for one's place in the world is a dovah rule. It was part of the Dragon Order, and much of the Order was proven false. I have already had to alter much of the way I view things. I can do this, but..._

"What am I missing?" Miraak asked.

What caused one to think differently? When did it start? He'd done it before, of course, but he was never sure what initiated a new thought-process. Perhaps it was an idea... He had a feeling this was going to take a while to figure out.

"The words are there, Miraak. All you need to do, is understand them. Then, my seekers will bring them to you. Apocrypha is about the mind, not the physical body. My realm lets you see into your own mind...in a...focused manner. If you cannot grasp it, then you will fall to your own want for knowledge."

 _Submission was about surrender, surrender to something stronger._ _Maybe…_

He spoke his next thoughts aloud. "Maybe I need to distinguish it from actual surrender?"

"You're on the right track...Champion."

The daedra faded back into his pool of green, receding from the front of the world. Miraak absently watched him go.

Submission was surrender, but not quite. Surrender implied choice. To surrender was a willing act, like bending one's knee. However, submission was subjugation. When one bowed in subjugation, it was not a willing act. Free will was gone. Submission was truly about releasing one's identity completely.

There! He had it. Bending one's will was erasing all choice from their minds!

Miraak saw a large book, its back pale in color. _Bend Will_ was scrawled on the title in the dovah language. However, it was just barely cut off from where it jutted from a pile of muck. He hurried forward and seized it, but he could not free the knowledge. It was right there, his hands upon it, and yet it would not yield to him.

Why couldn't the dragons understand submission?

They were constantly bleeding all of their worshippers of their identity with their faceless masks, shapeless robes, empty blood-sacrifices, and useless fights, all to increase their cruelty and decrease their ability to empathize. Most of the priests even cast out their names to become nameless because it pleased the dovah, even though many still retained theirs. Only the strongest priests were allowed an identity of meaning and prominence. This name was approved by their masters.

Hevnoraak - Brutality.

Vahlok - Guardian.

Zin - Honor.

Ahzidal - Bitter Destroyer.

Zahkriisos - Bloodblade.

Konahrik - Warlord.

And many others.

Submission was what the dragons wanted - will bent to nothing, personality that ceased to exist.

And yet...he'd been free to turn on them, had he not? Many still had a personality and were not mindless creatures. The dovah's leash on its member was not true submission. Also, the dragons had fallen to Miraak, and he had found identity in that. Maybe that was the problem. There wasn't a single cell in Miraak's body that understood subjugation truly. He'd never truly erased himself to serve another... How could one know something without firsthand experience of the concept? He almost growled in growing frustration.

"Mentor," he hissed. "I do not know what it is to submit. I only know how to find my place."

He could not see any material evidence of Hermaeus Mora, but he heard the daedra's voice echoing throughout the room. "Then you know...what you must do. You must follow your guide, wherever he takes you."

"Submission...finding...seeking." He muttered, standing up. He was so close now, that he decided to do what the daedra suggested. He would not give up. "I require a Seeker."

The creature materialized from thin air. He told it, "Seeker...show me what it is to submit and be subjugated."

The Seeker turned and floated towards that pool of green water once again.

"Miraak..." said Hermaeus Mora. "Just a warning. If you are weak or unprepared, then you will lose yourself to Apocrypha forever. If you feel you are not ready, then you should avoid this challenge now. I cannot stop the process when it has begun, or it may kill you."

"I am not weak or unprepared." Miraak clenched his fists in determination.

Miraa approached the Seeker, and it evaporated like dust. He paused before the green liquid, knowing that Hermaeus meant that he must enter it. Staring down, he knew it was not liquid. It was the essence of Apocrypha. The water that showed no reflection as it rippled gently - he knew it was the culmination of thousands, no, millions, of thoughts, memories, knowledge. Existences and experiences resided below, taking on a dark appearance. All of the dark gritty truths twisted together into the waters of Apocrypha like the soil of Nirn that gave it life, and that was why it was so hungry for more.

He was not weak, but neither was he sure if the kind of strengths required for such a test were the same ones he possessed. However, he would not lose this fight. He would not fall. He refused to quit. He needed this knowledge, and he would not let any challenge stop him from gaining what he needed to win his war with the dragons. He was destined to change the world.

"I cannot stop now..." He said. "Let us begin and get it over with."

Dark words climbed from the pool, sliding from the dark waters, raising into the air. They were odd words, shifting phrases in a language unknown to any living creature, beginning to glow faintly. Miraak exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

 _I can do this._

The words morphed into green tentacles. He was seized and pulled into the dark pool of knowledge. All went deathly silent, and when he opened his eyes, darkness blotted out his vision. He looked up, and he saw greenish light far above, like he were deep under water. He felt weightless, gaining liberty from that sensation, freedom. He longed for a moment, for that to be his destiny, freedom from the fires he constantly ignited, freedom from the fight he was doomed to fight, freedom from the darkness of the paths he traveled.

And for a minute.

He had it all.

Then, it swamped upon his mind. _It_ was thousands of words spoken at the same time in a million languages ran together. _It_ was a storm of emotions, actions, and impulses all fighting against each other. _It_ was screams, laughter, and crying mixed together in an odd union. There was a moment when the suffocating sensations let up, and he felt proud. Then the darkness pressed in again. All the while, he was aware in the back of his thoughts that Apocrypha was consuming his mind, pulling him apart. He was reminded of the crazy creature in the crypt where he had originally found his first black book. He could _not_ end up like that.

He reached through that darkness towards the faint green light. The world reacted in turn. Claws, pincers, and tentacles shoved him back from his goal, drowning him. He felt like he was suffocating, losing himself to a fight he was not familiar with fighting. The wave of thoughts crashed into him, more voices, sensations and impressions.

It faded, as did the light.

 _I'm lost. I cannot fathom how I can just lose myself to a fight that is not even a fight._

That was his last thoughts before his mind relented to the onslaught.

The moment stole him, and he drifted into it, no longer thinking of anything.

It was not surrender.

It was subjugation.

Will bent.

 _That's it!_ The startling thought pulled him from his subjugation - the reward of discovering his prize. _Submission is nothingness of the mind! Its complexity is to turn the mind on itself, to make it want to be nothing, perhaps even with a desire of freedom._ His thoughts secured his release. He found himself stumbling forward. He caught himself, and saw solid ground under his feet.

He grabbed his mask, pulling it from his face to gasp at the empty air. His head was pounding as he massaged his temples, lungs aching as if he had truly been drowning. Slowly, he looked up. The lord of Apocrypha was in the sky, like usual.

"Mortals seem to learn best through experience," Hermaeus Mora stated conversationally. "Apocrypha is not kind to you. Many cannot even withstand the simplest input of its teachings."

"The knowledge is mine now, my lord. My comprehension is finally beyond that of the dovah." Miraak stated. He replaced his mask, no longer feeling suffocated. He'd spotted the book he'd been trying to grab by his foot.

Bend Will.

He seized it, knowing it would give him its secrets.

"Gol Hah Dov." Miraak whispered, nodding.

It made sense. The words weren't even the power of the shout. It was the will and knowledge of the user. The understanding. A dragon could not usually conceive of this simple concept, he knew. Of course, he hadn't been able to at first either, but that was his nature.

With this, he now had an even greater edge in his fight. Nothing and no one would stop him.

"I've got work to do," Miraak said.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ \- _So, I feel like a shout like Bend Will would not be easy to master... I do not feel it would be as easy as the game portrays it, anyway. So, to make this a bit more of a rewarding shout, I wrote it this way..._

 _In other news, I am about to begin the finale of part one of this story, with next chapter. The last chapter of part one is 28... I sincerely hope that this story is continuing to entertain you!_

 _:) Thanks for reading!_


	23. Sunset Battle: Clash with Brutality

~D~

XXIII. Sunset Battle: Clash with Brutality

(Shulmah Grah: Krif voth Hevnoraak)

 _Miraak will meet his end...before the sun sets tonight._

Hevnoraak felt confidence intertwined with the equally twisted sense of utmost anger burning within him. The snowy skies flowed over him, the thick clouds emitting their precipitation. He traversed the white-spitting heavens because there was no turning back from this mission. He felt the fire in his veins that would propel his wrath on the traitor, and he was more than eager to use it to destroy his enemy. However, Miraak would not be underestimated again, he knew. Fortunately, he had allies to aid him this time. Hevnoraak was not interested in a fair fight. The traitor would get only what he had asked for, only what he deserved. He looked forward to conquering this foe. Unfortunately, he had to quell his impatience, for it was hours yet before they reached their destination. He twisted his hands, thinking of little else but what he wanted to do to the rebellious traitor.

He had everything and everyone he needed to defeat - no, utterly _destroy_ \- this foe of his. There was Vahlok, yes. Better than that, though, were the mighty dovah that soared through the sky around him, their eagerness for battle propelling their wings with furious beats to travel the distance with great speed. There were at least a dozen other dragons. He did not know all of their names, for they'd been much too eager for blood to share them. Many, he was surprised to see, were dragons with little status or prestige. He could tell by their lack of knowledge in mortal language. When he'd asked about this, Juskkeinfaaz merely stated that they did not need anymore prestigious dragons other than himself in the upcoming fight. Hevnoraak suspected that the dovah did not want to appear overly-cautious or worried by the amount of help he was bringing to the fight.

True, there were many dragons he didn't know, save for three he hadn't recognized until gleaning clues from their speech. The three that were called the Triad when together. It was said the three dragons relied heavily upon each other for their power, and always entered combat together. He did not know their names however, for they were rather reclusive dovah.

 _The Triad... Interesting._

Hevnoraak smiled faintly before pushing the thought away. He sat on the back of the mighty overlord Juskkeinfaaz. This was allowed due to the fact that he understood that Hevnoraak was arguably the most respected priest next to Konahrik and Morokei for his power. If he proved to conquer his age and mortality, as was known, it was likely he would become head of the Dragon Council from such a feat...along with his own political meddling. Apart from that, the situation was an unusual one, and so oddities were accepted.

Musingly, the priest of brutality glanced through the cloudy skies, turning dark eyes upon Vahlok sitting on the back of a large, green dovah. Riikathkrein was the dragon's name. Unfortunately, the priest had not realized how unusual Riikathkrein was at first. The dovah had a strange attitude, in which he seemed to care for little, as if Vahlok's ceaseless stoniness were not bad enough. They matched each other well. What he didn't get about the other priest, was that Vahlok did not seem to revel in his power. Was it some kind of detachment from himself that made him this way? Even Miraak, fool that he was, seemed to find a thrill in his strength; it was natural with those who had power to enjoy that power.

Hevnoraak knew himself. He knew he liked to hurt others. He knew he was powerful. He displayed it readily. Every moment called to him, and he was more than ready to seize it. However, Vahlok was about as expressive as a chunk of stone, if only slightly less dull, never seizing the opportunities unless it were for some unknown reason. He wanted to take the kill of the traitor, but Hevnoraak had no intentions of giving it up. The brutal priest wanted so much more than death for his enemy. Vahlok wanted an end, and he had no concept of enjoying or prolonging it.

No, when the time was right, he'd kill both Miraak... _and_ Vahlok...slowly, in turn. He'd be the one to return home, not the other. He would have his power, and he would find away to live forever. Because he was Hevnoraak. Because he was brutality, the namesake he'd chosen for himself when he'd stepped up to the devilish politics of the Dragon Council.

All feared him, for good reason.

"Hang back, Vahlok!" He called through the wind. "Remember the plan." He watched the green dragon drop back slowly along with a few other dragons, his sadistic face twisting into a dark smile.

 _Father and son take after each other more than I realized; they are both troublesome. Yes. I will kill them both before they interfere further in my affairs.. I will take my time doing it, too._

* * *

All that Miraak had done was catching up to him, he realized. He was surprised at the outcome, but he knew he was ready. He had not expected it to be like this, but he was here and now. The day he'd been waiting for had come. All that he'd done, had been in preparation for something just like this.

"They are waiting, you say?" Miraak asked Nahlot quietly.

"Indeed, Lord Miraak…"

"How many?"

"At least a dozen, but less than twenty. Although, in the current weather, it is hard to tell... I do not know what they wait for."

 _They wait for me… "_ And there is still no word from Dukaan or the other acolytes?"

"No, my lord. None yet."

"Very well. Gather the others. It is only fair that I speak to those who have shown nothing but absolute loyalty towards me… I will return in a moment, have them ready to listen."

Slowly, he raised to his feet from where he sat in the throne. In his hand he held the precious black book, the title he'd learned being _Waking Dreams_. Quickly, he paced down the steps of his throne and exited the chamber of dragon bones. He turned sharply, traipsing through a winding hallway and beyond that. He passed a dining area, and then through a secret passage. It was strangely quiet. The walls were so thick. Most of the others who had once bowed to him had long since left, and those that remained, would soon be waiting for him within the throne room. The silence was not unexpected.

He could withstand the absence of many of his followers. He was the strongest man alive. He was Dovahkiin. Dragonborn. The first man to have dragonblood. The strongest mortal.

And yet, he was not alone. He'd never truly been completely alone. He'd always had support. First, he'd had his mother when he was young. Then, when she'd left, he'd had his sister. Beyond that, he had the followers at the temple who'd been on his side even against the former head priest. They were Nahlot, Kreniik, Laana, and Nina. They had stayed when others had gone in the wake of his power. He had an ally in them. Also, he had found one in Hermaeus Mora, who'd given him a way to carve his destiny into the world. Even the guard who'd condescended his rashness had shown nothing but support in the last few months. There were also the acolyte priests who were sworn to follow him, and one that he had decided he treasured greatly - Zin.

And now, he found that he was grateful for all of those who'd helped him, even if he hadn't been at the time.

He reached his destination. It was a dark room where a statue of his mentor had been carved within the back, even though the daedra had never asked it be made. However, Miraak had found it only fair. Besides, the book seemed to be at home here. The atmosphere of the room prepared his mind for the reading with the magicka he'd worked into this place. And he'd been reading it a lot lately.

He sat his prize down upon the pedestal in this secret room, his gaze drawn to the shrine of Hermaeus Mora.

"Everything I've done..." he whispered. "It all comes down to this. You've allowed me to reach my full potential, my Mentor." He sighed and turned away. "And now it looks as though it will be tested. Let them taste my power..."

Miraak left quickly, returning to the throne room, his mind on what he knew would happen. The others had gathered, so few, but enough. He knew their support had helped him reach what he was today. He found satisfaction in that.

"There is much that is about to occur," he told them, observing his loyal followers through his mask. "I am about to show the Dragon Council my true strength. This is not a fight that you will participate in, for I cannot guarantee that my powers will be any less dangerous for you than it will be for my enemies. There are dragons outside, as you well know, waiting for my answer to their challenge. I will answer the challenge with my power, and I will conquer them as I have conquered many before them…"

"My lord, You will not let us fight?" Kreniik asked, astonished, face falling.

"Not in this fight. Not when I must use all of my power. Almost twenty dragons decrees for my best. I will hold nothing back, and I will not waste your lives. It is completely unnecessary."

Laana asked, "Then what are we to do?"

"Be here when I return," Miraak responded, a little regretful they could not help. He understood that they wanted to help, and he felt almost as if he were cheating them. But they were not strong enough fighters for such a task...and he was doubly sure that he did not want to see them lose their lives.

"Of course Kreniik is looking for a fight," Nina said, looking at the man in question challengingly. "He's hoping he will randomly become good at it."

"What?" Kreniik sounded taken aback.

"And why not? We all know you can't really hit anything with even a simple spell!"

"I can cast just fine…"

"The bandits we found last week disagree."

"They can't agree on anything! They're dead! How well do _you_ cast spells?"

"Nina and Kreniik," the dragonborn said sternly. "That's enough."

They both apologized quickly and fell silent.

Miraak reiterated, "You all will remain within the temple… No matter what happens, do not throw your lives away needlessly."

They assented quietly.

With a small nod to himself, he strode for the exit, ready to battle with his foes.

When their leader had gone, Kreniik muttered, "what's the point of us, then? He obviously already has enough strength...He even let most of the followers leave to join the rebellion. Why does he want us to stay at his side at all? Not that I'd rather be somewhere else, it's just…" He trailed off.

Nahlot responded, his voice soft, "Do not doubt that he will return, Kreniik. I should be surprised if Lord Miraak were to need _any_ help. At least, on the battlefield. No, he needs those who can be trusted. We are more helpful here, waiting. That is why he let so many go...he does not need their fighting strength. He only needs loyalty from a select few so that he knows there are those who are waiting for him. We strengthen his resolve. That is what's important."

Laana added, "we will also have the highest ranks within the new empire he will build, because we have proven ourselves. I have little doubt."

"I suppose you're right..." Kreniik responded.

"Of course they are," Nina said. "You just never get it, do you?"

Kreniik shook his head, "I'm not getting into another argument, Nina." With that, he made to leave the throne room.

 _We are all tense and worried,_ Kreniik thought. _Even if they pretend otherwise._

"Nina," he called back to her, "You only act like this when you're fretting."

At that, she scowled heavily.

* * *

Outside, the wind picked up, howling voraciously as it tore through the pine trees, flinging snow before its wrath. The sky spat white, swirling around in large eddies in a vicious way. Miraak, though he was shielded with his robes and mask, could still sense the fury of the weather. He did not let it bother him. Instead, he let it empower him. He could feel how the weather spoke to the primal part in him that welcomed the fight to come. The dragon within him called this land his home. He felt his fire building, and he raised his face to the enemies barely visible in the white sky above.

His dragon raised itself. "Mul Qah Diiv!" He shouted his thu'um armor into existence. This also had the effect of alerting his presence to those foes above.

He gripped his staff tightly, allowing himself a moment to feel the power in the world around. The magicka of the land seemed to hum into his thoughts when he focused on it. It was wild, powerful, and waiting. He was never more certain of his decision to learn from Hermaeus Mora or the Dwemer. The strength he now carried could match these beasts.

 _Come to me, dovah. Let me teach you true power. I will show you that which changes a world._

The dragon fell quickly from the sky, crashing into the ground before him onto its clawed feet. It reared, sweeping its wings grandly in a typical and arrogant display. It was much larger than any other dragon he'd seen - apart from Alduin - and also very different. Its body was covered in golden scales, and tusks curled from its snout, gleaming white. Its eyes were a deep blue, and a mane of hair and horns lined the back of his neck. Miraak stared for a moment, assessing his foe, astonished by how it looked. His inner dragon snarled faintly at the beast towering above them, ready and eager to fight.

The dragon spat, "Stand before me, sahlo joor. Prepare for death! I am brother of Alduin! Your eyes behold the mighty Juskkeinfaaz! All traitors to the Destroyer's rule will die...and when I am done with you, I will tear out Paarthurnax's throat for his betrayal."

Three more dragons circled lower in the sky until they were visible, their howls of rage ringing through the air. Miraak could sense their souls, and those of the dragons less visible above. There were many, so many. He'd never fought so many dragons before all at once. However, he had a weapon that could only make this battle go exactly how he wanted.

"You certainly feel the need for reinforcements," Miraak stated, his confidence brimming.

Then, his confidence faded marginally. A familiar voice carried lowly on the wind. "Traitor that you are," Hevnoraak said softly, "We do not underestimate you this time. There will be no escape." He slid to the ground, whipping his staff around as he landed with graceful ease. He held it before him, showing that he was ready. "I will not bother asking how you survived my poison... No. The only thing I want to hear from you is your screams of pain."

"Ah, Hevnoraak," Miraak greeted, chuckling humorlessly. "I am surprised at you. Trading your gods out the way you do like they're old rugs."

"Thuri Juskkeinfaaz has agreed to ally with me while I _painfully_ destroy you..."

"Indeed. Because I took the other one's soul; he's only assisting _me_ now. What was his name? Ah yes, Diiviizkren."

Juskkeinfaaz growled.

Hevnoraak laughed softly in return. "You want to upset us, do you? Go right ahead, but you'll have to try harder...Yes, Miraak. Keep speaking...let us see what follows your blind arrogance and spirit."

Miraak walked forward slowly, his eyes locked upon Hevnoraak's. There would be nothing like bringing this priest down, he decided. No message of his power could be sent like killing this man. No satisfaction could match bringing down this enemy he despised.

"I'm _astounded_ that you would face us directly...and alone," Hevnoraak muttered. "Then again, you were always foolish... I expected to have to drag you out of your hole."

"And I thought you would know better than to attack me directly again."

"You nearly died, why are you so confident?"

"I could ask the same."

"Come Miraak, let us finish this once and for all. I'm going to crush your very will and soul, render you a broken man, and then you will beg me for death. And I will grant it, and we will both recognize the irony of me being your destroyer...and savior!"

Both froze, glaring through their masks.

"You are certainly welcome to try," Miraak responded. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" The fiery wave burst from him.

Hevnoraak dispersed the spell with a wave of his staff. The white magicka of ice lit its tip.

Simultaneously, Juskkeinfaaz opened his jaws. "GAN LAH HAAS!"

Miraak raised his ward, blocking the attack with ease. He lowered his ward and became aware of the movement from above. A quick glance upward revealed a dragon diving towards him. The beast's jaws were open, white teeth sharp and stained in the light, wings folded into the dive. It was plummeting rapidly, closing the distance between them. However, the dragonborn was unconcerned with his descending foe.

"GOL HAH DOV!" He shouted.

The yellow-white light flowed over the dragon. For a moment, Miraak felt it resist, but he locked his mind onto the beast, imposing his understanding of subjugation upon it. He learned its name.

"Sahrotaar! Hi los dii!" He called. "IIDAH!"

The dragon pulled off its attack at the last moment, twisting back towards the sky, its wings beating rapidly to make up for the imbalance. Sahrotaar crashed into one of the other dragons flying above.

Hevnoraak made his move. Miraak pulled himself back to the moment. The other's staff raised, surging electricity unleashed from it. Miraak aimed, unleashing the counter attack through his own staff. The activated weapon spat out a gout of green tentacles that negated the spell.

"What new trick do you pull this time, boy!?" Demanded the priest angrily. "I'm going to... _mangle_ you!"

Miraak was quick. He rushed forward, shouting, "FO!"

The icy wave rushed over Hevnoraak. Miraak was right behind it. Closer still, he leapt into the air. He smashed his staff across the other man's face. There was a sharp crack. Hevnoraak reeled away, his hands flying up. Miraak grabbed his sword hanging at his side, and descended on his enemy. He wanted to end Hevnoraak.

A heavy projectile seemed to slam into him from the side, and he flew through the air. Juskkeinfaaz howled, his tail pulling back from the swing. Miraak grunted, hitting the ground. He winced, slowly picking himself up.

"He would have killed you, fool! You are weak, Hevnoraak!" Juskkeinfaaz snarled. "I'll rip this one in two! His dark majicka will not stop _me_!"

Miraak unleashed more majicka through his weapon, the green sludge-like substance of tentacles spraying from the end aimed at the dragon. He wanted to prove the beast wrong. Juskkeinfaaz did not back down from the attack however. Instead, he shouted, "IIZ SLEN NUS!"

Miraak registered that he had never heard that shout before. The tentacle-sludge froze before it could activate its effect. The dragon snarled in triumph, and its jaws thrust forward. Miraak instinctively flung himself aside, having no time to think. The dragon's teeth snapped together with a loud noise, capturing nothing.

Juskkeinfaaz lunged again.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The wave of power slammed into the dragon's face. It flinched. Miraak stumbled through the snow, still trying to balance himself from the movements. He claimed his footing and turned towards the angered beast. Another Unrelenting Force shout tore from him, but the strain was starting to wear on him. He was directing too much magicka to his shouts, it seemed, and it was having a negative effect upon his power. He watched the dragon recover. Juskkeinfaaz spat in anger.

Miraak let a wave of fire explode out of his staff, and he moved forward, showering his enemy with it. The attack scorched the dragon's angry face. Quickly, he followed up by another gout of tentacles that smashed into the dragon's eyes. Blinded, it stumbled. It's claws twisted in the snow as it tripped, and with a cry, it rose into the air, escaping the field.

"KRII LUN AUS" The shout came from Hevnoraak.

The unfortunately familiar shout hit him from the side, catching him off guard. He turned, doing his best to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach and the sharp pain flaring in his nerves. Hevnoraak, recovered, unleashed a bolt of lightning. Miraak felt the energy surge into him. With a gasp, he fell to his knees, white-hot agony searing his entire body. It burned, but he tried to recover. Humming with magicka, Hevnoraak's staff glowed white. A dagger-sized shard of ice flew through the air.

It speared into Miraak's arm, and he was jerked to the side from the force of it.

Hevnoraak exhaled, "I'm not finished with you!"

Miraak doubted his opponent had missed his vitals unintentionally, remembering that the man wanted to drag his pain out. He forced himself through the agony he felt, knowing that to succumb was to allow the other satisfaction, and he was unwilling to do that on purpose. Digging his weapon into the ground, he pushed to his feet. He charged forward, howling a war cry of pain, despite the ice in his arm. The dragon priest's next attack was interrupted. Miraak unleashed bundles of tentacles upon his enemy. Hevnoraak hissed, covered in the strength-sapping muck.

Miraak thrust his sword forward. It swept down, but rebounded back. Hevnoraak's staff blocked his attack. The other's weapon spun around and connected with his side with enough force to break a bone, and Miraak winced. Fortunately, he knew that his armor would protect his ribs from the attack, even if it still hurt. Hevnoraak lashed him again, laughing openly at his agony. Angered and pained, the dragonborn seized the weapon instinctively. He called the power within the air around him into his own staff. Pulling his foe forward, he unleashed deadly, strengthened fire right into Hevnoraak's visor.

The dragon priest reacted with an unholy scream.

"Taste the pain you inflict!" Miraak demanded.

Hevnoraak twisted sideways, writhing like a serpent to escape. The other's weapon rolled out of Miraak's grasp. He stumbled away, his flames failing. He saw a half-melted mask burned into Hevnoraak's skin. One of the dragon priest's eyes glared at him, the other mostly burned away. With a savage cry, the other sprang forward like a beast. The dagger burrowed into his enemy's chest, merciless. Miraak cried out.

"SCREAM!" Shouted the priest, yanking his blade free, spilling blood. "BEG FOR DEATH!"

Waves of agony rang through Miraak from multiple sources, and he staggered back, trying to regain himself. He retaliated with a burst of fire that made the priest stumble back, collapsing.

Juskkeinfaaz slammed into the ground nearby. With a snarl, the dragon opened it's mouth. "YOL!"

There was no way to escape.

Miraak felt the scorching flames spray over him, and he summoned majicka to his armor to reinforce it. It was the last thing he could do in such a situation. Still, the damage was done. Miraak could see the dragon looming above, its mighty jaws open wide, ready to devour him.

Sahrotaar fell upon Juskkeinfaaz. The golden dragon screeched when the smaller one latched onto its neck. The serpentine dragon was already fiercely wounded, but his claws raked into his foe mercilessly. With a howl, Juskkeinfaaz twisted under the other dragon. His head turned and their jaws snapped together, a terrible crack filled the air. Juskkeinfaaz screeched, finally catching the other dragon by the leg. He dragged at it, a terrible ripping sound filling the air as scales and flesh tore.

"ZU'U FEN PENTAAR FAH TAHROVIN, SAHROTAAR!" The golden dragon thundered, promising punishment to the dragon under Miraak's sway.

"Zu'u aam thuri Miraak!" Replied the dragon, lashing the other with his tale while declaring that he served a new master.

Miraak saw more dragons decide to join the fray. They plunged downward, fighting the howling winds, racing towards the arena below. They didn't realize that their numbers gave their enemy the advantage where it should have been his disadvantage.

"GOL HAH DOV!" He shouted at the first two that drew within range of the battlefield.

Krosulhah and Frinkiizuth were their names name. Miraak subdued their minds, and both dragons turned upon their brethren, howling fiercely. There was a commotion of surprise and fear as dragon turned upon dragon without any warning or obvious reason. Miraak couldn't help but feel rather satisfied by what was taking place and how he'd sown chaos amidst the false gods. Fire lit up the skies.

Juskkeinfaaz struggled with the smaller and more agile serpentine dragon. While Sahrotaar was doing little damage, the older and more powerful dragon found it difficult to capture the other, and he'd lost the hold he'd gained earlier. He roared angrily, shaking his wings. Sahrotaar's jaws clamped upon his wing joint, and he twisted his head, rolling out of range of the maw trying to close upon him. They continued their combat.

A large dragon landed in front of Miraak. He stumbled, looking upon the other. It raised its head, jaws open. "YOL!"

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" Miraak returned, fighting fire with fire. The scorched dragon reared its head, screaming in pain. Its scales had been blackened by the superior thu'um. "GOL HAH DOV!" Miraak continued.

His consciousness grappled with the dragon... Kruziikrel. For a moment, the dragon's surprising will fought against him. Miraak saw the dragon's thoughts, astonished by its name which was made of two words, and also by the indications that there were two more with such names. Finally, after a struggle of will against will, he conquered his enemy's mind.

On an unspoken command, the dragon turned upon Juskkeinfaaz, flapping his wings to launch himself at the other and assist Sahrotaar. Kruziikrel proved a valuable ally to the serpentine dragon, instantly latching upon the golden dragon's wing and ripping at the membrane of it with his claw. Juskkeinfaaz snarled, trying to contend with the two rebellious dovah ripping at him. Miraak poured his anger and savagery into Kruziikrel until he could almost feel the dragon ripping at its enemy's wings through his mind.

"MIRAAK!" Hevnoraak howled, voice cracking like ice. "YOU ARE GOING TO EXPERIENCE SUCH AGONY!" The burned, angry man, finally recovered enough to retaliate, charged forward.

Miraak broke his thoughts away from his servant dragons. He barely had time to acknowledge the attack. The dagger stabbed into his stomach, over and over. He yelled out, burning in discomfort. He couldn't get his bearings under the attack. Hot blood seeped from his wounds. He pulled his staff up and unleashed his majicka, only to feel it interrupted by his foe with dark magicka surging into him, making him dizzy.

 _No...impossible!_

It was not enough. He hit the other man. Hevoraak's attack was momentarily halted. Miraak grabbed his sword again and sliced forward. His weapon left a gash in the priest's robes, spilling blood down his chest. Hevnoraak tripped at the sudden pain. Miraak followed up by running him through the stomach, allowing the blade to pierce all the way through his body. Hevnoraak's good eye met both of Miraak's, wide in surprise. The dragonborn pushed him back, and the sadistic man hit the ground. Miraak raised his sword. He moved to plunge it down into his enemy's heart, to end him once and for all.

Then, the ground was racing away, his foe gone. For a moment, he was confused. Then, he realized that he had been swept into the air in the claws of a dragon.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul -**_

 _Sahlo Joor - Weak Mortal  
 _Hi los dii - You are mine  
Thuri - My overlord__ _ _  
_Jusk-kein-faaz(Dragon Name) - Claw-War-Pain_  
 _Riik-ath-krein(Dragon Name) - Gale-Despair-Sun_  
 _Sah-ro-taar(Dragon Name) - Phantom-word-servant_  
 _Kro-sul-Hah(Dragon Name) - Sorceror-Day-Mind_  
 _Frin-kii-zuth(Dragon Name) - Hot-ash-spear  
Kruziik-rel(Dragon Name) - Ancient-dominate  
ZU'U FEN PENTAAR FAH TAHROVIN, SAHROTAAR - I WILL PUNISH THIS TREACHERY, SAHROTAAR_  
 _Zu'u aam thuri Miraak! - I serve my overlord Miraak!_

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- Sorry to end this chapter like this... It'll make sense next chapter. XD_


	24. Sunset Battle: Traitor and Guardian

_**A/N**_ \- _Alright, readers! I'm super excited about this chapter. In the writing and editing of, it has become my favorite one that I've written so far. Yes, I just made an author's note to tell you this! X) I hope you enjoy it! :D I think you'll see why it's my favorite._

* * *

~D~

XXIV. Sunset Battle: Traitor and Guardian

(Shulmah Grah: Vax ahrk Vahlok)

Miraak became disoriented, the land slipping away from him as if he were falling upwards in a strange dream. The dizzying height made his vision swim from the swift ascent, only adding to the surreal feeling. Unable to form a single, whole thought, the pieces in his head swam haphazardly. His impressions would not coalesce into something meaningful. Vertigo seized him. He blinked, trying to concentrate. The world blurred into a mess, and the dragon pulled him higher.

He started to gain sense of the situation, realizing that he was very high in the sky. The trees far below looked like strange daggers pointing towards him; they were small, insignificant, the land on which they stood distant. Finally, he pulled his thoughts together, his light-headedness fading. He knew he was trapped in the claws of a dragon, but it was merely a small hindrance. He still clutched his sword and staff, both of which he could make use of. After he pushed away the last of his dizziness, he turned sideways, his ribs, spine and shoulders aching in protest at his awkward angle. He snarled, allowing the discomfort to fuel his attack. He unleashed unforgiving flames on the green dragon that held him.

He found himself plummeting through the sky, too far to survive should he hit the ground.

"FEIM ZII GRON." He shouted, his body turning insubstantial and transparent.

He fell freely, the wind whipping by and through him. The world seemed strange and dream-like again, rushing towards him, but never imposing danger. In the sky, so far above the land, for just a few moments, he felt as weightless as he had been in Apocrypha's grasp. He spread his arms to fall free, imagining wings that would allow him to soar.

He remembered that odd want. The desire to surrender and give in. He felt that, for an instant, that same wish to be able to lay down his burdens and find peace, to find freedom. Was this how the dragons felt? Did this feeling empower them, to know they could defy the grounding given to all other races? It certainly felt powerful to Miraak. It would be incredible to be able to control it, as the dovah did, to fly

He hit the snow, collapsed and rolling, an ethereal form. He lay still, gasping raggedly. The fall had stolen his breath away, and his body ached from the multiple dagger wounds his last opponent had dealt him. Breathing in and out as slowly as he could, he worked on his recovery. Carefully, he rose, testing his footing and straightening his stance.

The green dragon landed several paces away, the ground shaking from its weight, a rider upon its neck. On either side of it, two gray dovah landed. Their scales seemed to shimmer with power, and dark spikes marked their body. Miraak realized they were identical in appearance to each other. They also looked like another - Kruziikrel, the dragon that fought for him against Juskkeinfaaz. Miraak concentrated on Kruziikrel in curiosity, sensing his wounds but fiery determination through the connection. The dragon was still fighting strong.

Miraak squared his shoulders despite his pain, raising his weapons. He allowed himself to become physical once more, shedding the ethereal form. He adjusted, and his foot slipped slightly. The lay of the ground under his feet was familiar because he already knew it. Bones - they lay beneath the snow, solid and strong. He was on the hill of bones that had led to his exploration and discovery of the book. He thought it odd, that he should wind up here, of all places. However, maybe it wasn't so odd.

Perhaps fate was reminding him of his task.

"It's time, Miraak," Vahlok's voice carried from the dragon. "I knew Hevnoraak would get in over his head. He cannot grasp your power. He cannot fathom that you have surpassed him. However, I am clearly going to succeed. He wasted his power on you, and you, in turn, on him."

"This is low, Vahlok," Miraak said, his voice tight. He breathed slowly, steadying his footing amongst the bones covered in snow. "Assisting Hevnoraak like this. I did not expect you to help that monstrous man. No, not even over the likes of me. Clearly, I overestimated your so-called honor."

Vahlok responded, "Truthfully, I wasn't going to bother. I care not for him, and for a time, I cared not your actions… But I had forgotten my duty to this land. That is unforgivable to me. I cannot forget my duty as guardian of Keizaal...such burden I have sworn unto myself."

"And yet, you still follow those who are just as terrible as Hevnoraak," Miraak responded. "Honorable indeed..." He sneered and felt a stab of anger. "You should have stayed in the south."

"Mortal men talk too much," growled the emerald dragon, "The time to kill is now." He raised his head to break eye contact between the men. Miraak's gaze was instead drawn to the crown of four horns curled from his head, and then to the dark eyes of the dragon.

"Yes, Lord Riikathkrein." Vahlok said, gripping his staff more tightly "Let us finish this."

Riikathkrein rose into the air, flapping to gain height on the group below. Miraak watched warily, curious as to why the dragon was rising into the sky. Riikathkrein hovered for a moment, looking at one of the grays. "Relonikiv!" He snapped.

Relonikiv roared and lunged towards dragonborn.

"GOL HAH DOV!" Miraak shouted.

The dragon paused, eyes clouding with confusion. Miraak felt the strength of its mind push back instinctively against the enslavement, its mental fortitude greater than even Kruziikrel's. He also realized that it was backed by another mind. The other gray dragon could sense Miraak's takeover, and was trying to push him away, somehow joining in the conscious struggle. Mindahrel was its name.

The two had a connection, the dragonborn realized instantly.

Miraak gritted his teeth, head aching from the mental fight with the two dovah. He looked at the other dragon, and shouted Bend Will again. The pressure upon his mind let up, and he swamped Relonikiv's thoughts with his willpower. The dragon lost the fight for his mind. Mindahrel balked, also giving way, surrendering right after the other.

Miraak subjugated them. The powerful dragons were his to command. He learned they were brothers...but more that that, twins. No, triplets. The Triad. Kruziikrel was the third. He would make use of their newfound loyalty.

"Wah zey, Relonikiv! Mindahrel! Hi engein wah zey."

Both dragons respectfully approached and waited for further instruction. Miraak moved towards Relonikiv, sheathing his sword. The dragon lowered his head obediently upon command. The dragonborn seized his scales and did what he had never imagined himself doing until now. He clambered upon the dragon's neck, sitting just above its shoulders.

"Iidah!" He shouted, pointing the way with his staff towards the dragon above them.

Relonikiv lifted off the mound of bones, followed closely by his brother.

"Poor, Vahlok," Miraak said, mocking. "You just don't get it! I am DOVAHKIIN!"

Riikathkrein was already plummeting towards them, its jaws open. Both dragons collided in the sky, but the green dragon had the advantage of height. The strike jarred Relonikiv, and Miraak's free hand wound around a horn, steadying himself against the feeling of an earthquake racing through the dovah below him. Riikathkrein twisted its neck around Relonikiv's and snapped its fangs toward Miraak. Calling upon his power, the dragonborn retaliated with fire, unleashing it onto the dragon with his hand hovering over his staff. The beast snarled and Relonikiv locked his jaws onto the other dragon's neck. He tore into the scales on his enemy, ripping and snapping. The other dragon howled in pain, and his dark blood flowed freely.

Riikathkrein broke away, switching in the air, putting distance between them. Mindahrel and Relonikiv pursued, fueled by their new master's destructive wrath. The dragons crossed the sky in a deadly chase, sweeping their wings. Then, Riikathkrein spun in the air, quicker than Miraak expected. Fortunately, Mindahrel was unsurprised and slammed into the dragon's face, claws gouging at its chest. Relonikiv manuevered above, diving towards Vahlok on the back of the other. The dragon priest responded by unleashing a wave of electricity towards him.

For an odd moment, it was as if time had slowed, Miraak realized that the snow had stopped, for he could see everything down to the smallest detail. The forest was dizzyingly far below, but he could see his temple in the distance, large and dominating to the land. He could hear the buzz of electricity, and could smell the scent of blood from both man and beast that hung in the air. The moment broke, and electricity slammed into Relonikiv. The dragon went limp and fell past Riikathkrein and his rider. His descent only lasted for a moment, and the dragon's loose body tensed. He lashed out, biting into Riikathkrein's tail and dragging at him in an angry yanking motion.

Mindahrel had broken away from the other, roaring furiously. His head was bleeding profusely, pouring dark blood from the sky. Riikathkrein whipped his tail free of the hold Relonikiv had on him and lashed it back, slamming the dragon across the chest. Relonikiv shuddered and roared, responding with a lunge so quick, he nearly unseated his rider. Miraak could do little but hold on as the two dragons locked in combat again, writhing and clawing and biting at each other until dark blood soared through the air effortlessly from the vicious attacks. Mindahrel turned back around, launching himself at the fighting pair, but Miraak could tell the dragon was in great pain from his head injury. Relonikiv pulled back as his brother darted in, claws digging into Riikathkrein's stomach and tearing mercilessly. The screeching sound the other made was terrible. Unfortunately, the pain spurred the rival dragon into impressive speed. Riikathkrein sank his fangs into the back of Mindahrel's neck, pulling up quickly. In an impressive display, the green dragon flipped the gray one in the air, twisting his body to slam the other down.

Mindahrel plummeted, howling. He slammed into the trees below, yowling in pain as he thrashed in the snow, knocking a tree over as he bled into the snow. Then, the dragon lay still, his breathing rapid and shallow. Miraak felt a surge of fear run through Relonikiv at his fallen brother. The dragon twisted, fleeing from Rikathkrein.

Miraak spoke to the dragon, realizing that the brothers relied on each other's strength in battle. He could feel the two dragons' connection weakening in strength. He needed to soothe the dragon's fear by assuring him that his kin was not dying. "Rok los ni dilon. Zu'u drey ni kuz ok sil." However, he could feel how weak Mindahrel was, and the concern was interlocking with his own mind from Relonikiv's.

"Ofan mok suleyk, thuri," Relonikiv suggested, asking the dragonborn to help his brother.

"Geh, Relonikiv."

Through their shared connection, Miraak focused upon the dragon below. Calming his mind, he called upon the magicka in the air surrounding Mindahrel, directing it to the fallen dragon. He felt Mindahrel's pain began to lessen, his wounds healing. The process seemed to relieve Relonikiv, while the dragon below began to stir again.

Relonikiv finally turned to face Riikathkrein again, roaring defiance and anger at having initially fled. He was indignant now. Miraak could see Vahlok and Riikathkrein flying in a circular pattern, sweeping around for another attack, but he could also feel Mindahrel rising again. How odd that he had just healed a dragon.

 _The loyal are rewarded,_ he thought. He did not want to destroy the dragons. No, he wanted their assistance when he built his empire, whether they were willing or not. At any rate, they would be willing when they recognized his superior thu'um when he slayed Alduin. He smiled, knowing his power was undeniable. He could not lose. Not against the dragons, nor against this guardian.

Vahlok was silent aboard the green dragon, eyes locked on his opponent.

 _Miraak._ He thought, disgusted at the enslavement of the dovah. Still, he knew it was caused by the daedra's monstrous influence. The man that had once been his son was lost to his insane and devilish abilities. _No one wants this to happen to them. No sane man wants to face such a decision such as this...but...you must die. There are no other options but to admit defeat to an evil daedra, and that is something that I cannot do._

The dragonborn snarled, feeling his anger return, and Relonikiv braced himself.

 _Vahlok._ Miraak thought, angered that the other was so blind and foolish. The man that had once been his father was no more than a pawn of the dragons. How could he not see that he was following falsehoods? It mattered little though. _I do not fear you. I have always been the stronger. I will cast you down, as I have done to countless others!_

On the ground far below, Hevnoraak lifted his gaze, vision dark and shifting in the fog of pain. He watched guardian and traitor clash in the sky above, dragon against dragon, power against power. _Damn it... I..._ He thought weakly, slipping into unconsciousness.

Juskkeinfaaz finally shook the dragons off of him, and they collapsed in the snow, exhausted and wounded, trying to regain their strength. Angered, he leapt up towards the aerial battle, his wings flapping ferociously. However, the golden dragon screamed, one wing uselessly torn to shreds and dislocated. He fell back to the earth. He roared in pure frustration, unable to rise into the sky in his current condition.

The two dragons fighting in the heavens dived into each other and locked claws. The gray dragon had height to his advantage. Both struggled, biting and tearing at each other. Relonikiv ducked his head and Miraak launched a splash of tentacles at Vahlok. However, the surging dragons threw his aim off. The writhing masses plunged to the ground, useless. He knew trying to fight like this was useless, so he continued concentrating on enhancing Relonikiv's strength with magicka.

Vahlok watched calmly for any opening. He found nothing.

Claws tore into Relonikiv, who howled. Finally, Riikathkrein gained the upper hand, pulling the dragon below him with his strong claws locked onto the other. Miraak knew it was going to happen before he could attempt to stop it; the green dragon descended his fangs into his enemy's throat, smashing his jaws together. Relonikiv howled and thrashed, struggling to escape. Claws tore at his body with cruel accuracy. The grating sound of scales scraping on scales filled the dragonborn's ears. Relonikiv twisted, pushing against the green dragon desperately with his feet. Blood rained down, staining gray scales red.

Almost as if he had materialized from thin air, Mindahrel crashed into Riikathkrein from behind, knocking each of the dragons off balance. Miraak leaned forward, gripping tightly to keep from falling. He readied his staff for another attack, thinking a gout of flames might assist his dragons.

Then, Miraak saw Vahlok. The high dragon priest lunged forward, falling from Riikathkrein to the other dragon as if he'd rehearsed such a move plenty of times. He crashed into Miraak, dislodging him. The two tumbled from the closely fighting dovah, weightless and descending rapidly.

Miraak fell through the air, but before he could summon any shout, he crashed into a snowdrift, pain racing through his body from the impact. His arm seared, a jab of agony spiking up his shoulder and down his back. The feeling was incredibly intense, burning. Further along, he spotted Vahlok. The dragon priest picked himself up, a surge of healing light stealing over him for a moment.

Miraak realized that the dragons' fight must have been dropping them slowly in the sky, bringing them closer to the earth below.

He felt burning exhaustion trying to wash over him, his body protesting the continued exertion he was putting it through. The prospect of trying to collect himself seemed harder to accomplish than ever before. He blinked his eyes, focusing on the environment and the magicka of the land. He pulled on it, summoning its help. He hovered his hand to his arms and his bleeding torso, healing them as fast as he dared. The mending flesh and bones made him wince, and he still felt weak and a little shaky. He knew that magicka could not cure blood loss. He summoned its invigorating properties instead to give him strength - another trick he'd gained from the Dwemer.

Vahlok spoke, his very voice invoking hatred in his foe. "Miraak, look at what you have done! Don't you see that you don't have to serve the daedra? Your very robes reek of its evil magicka." Then, his voice became strange. "It is not too late for you to be saved! I can help…"

"Help with what!?" Miraak shouted, angry.

He dragged himself up into a standing position. It was harder than it should have been. He called upon the magicka in the air, but he found he was far too angry to summon its restorative properties. He dispersed it, wincing. Frustrated to lose control of himself, he found himself unable to think of anything but his rage.

He continued, his voice scathing, reflecting his tumultuous feelings. " _Help_ with the only creature that respected me!? _Help_ with the one who actually cared for my potential? For what I could be? You were my father, and yet it all meant nothing to you, where it mattered to a _daedra_!"

He hadn't meant for that last sentence to spill out.

Vahlok narrowed his eyes, his composure threatening to slip again. "Miraak...don't act like _I_ alienated you. You were the one who was so determined to surpass me, that you forgot you never needed to."

"I will always need to be stronger!" Miraak hissed. "I cannot survive without the power that I have. This is my destiny. This is who I am, and if that is evil to you..." He lowered his voice, and it became perfectly dark and venomous. "Then you'd better kill me, and save your little lie."

"And so I shall kill you, for traitors gain nothing but death. It is the law of the land. I _will_ end this madness."

"This _madness,_ as you are more comfortable calling it, is not even close to its conclusion. It's not just me... But the peasants. I even hear the dragons are also turning on the very order _they_ created! How much more evidence do you need to its corruption?"

"The only corruption is you! You are the one who inspired the peasants to rebel. You also somehow affected Paarthurnax, turning him on his brothers. The truth is that he is very much alone... That is enough evidence for me to see the right course of action - defying you!"

Miraak retorted, "Alduin's brother will not be alone... I learned that dragons are fighting across the land... Also, you saw how I turned those dragons to do my bidding! They are weak-willed! What I am saying, is that the Dragon Order is falling because its masters are too chaotic to bring order. A new ruler is rising from the ashes, as is decreed by fate, one who can bring order. I will be that ruler, for power goes to the strongest in mind and body!"

"Madness indeed! You wield chaos and call it peace! And if you cannot see that, then you are truly lost."

"The dragons and all of mankind shall serve me, and those who are loyal will be rewarded, not constantly punished for no greater reason than an overlord's bloodlust. This is that world. The one that you feel so comfortable in, Vahlok? That world will cease to be! Because of me. Mother knew this, but you were blind, weren't you!? No, she left because she feared that power! And she knew this from the verse!"

"Miraak." Vahlok sighed, realization entering his voice. "I regret that it has come to this, but it changes nothing, neither my duty, nor my place. This so-called destiny you claim is merely a ploy by Herma-Mora to throw our world into chaos for his own amusement! He controls you, whether you realize it or not! You truly believe that he cares for what you will do?" He scoffed. "He does not. I will kill you and free you from him... That is my duty, as the guardian of this land, and your father."

"You damned fool!" Miraak raised his staff, a dark storm of anger in his chest, but his magicka still hadn't recovered enough to use it. He paused, groaning in frustration, trying to calm himself enough to focus on the world around him. He could not, for he could feel the tangle of hatred, confusion, and doubt preventing him from concentrating.

 _"You must practice more, Miraak, or this technique is useless,"_ Nebrec had said to him during his stay with the Dwemer. _"Emotions can cloud your senses and make it hard to focus… Stay calm in combat, and you are invincible. Adrenaline is fine, if harnessed. But feeling hatred? Fear? Sorrow? Anger? You cannot let these interfere with your mind..."_

Unfortunately, Miraak was not calm. He was so deeply upset, that he could not help himself.

"Well," Vahlok said. "Miraak, I think we'll see the end of this pointless crusade of yours."

"UNLIKELY!" Miraak roared. "MINDAHREL! KRUZIIKREL! RELONIKIV!"

Miraak surged strength into the Triad under his sway, giving them speed and energy. He swayed, his strength waning in the wake of such use of his power. He still found it nearly impossible to focus upon the magicka he needed. He felt the Triad flying towards him. They were hard to bring down. From them, he got the impressions that Juskkeinfaaz and Riikathkrein were both down. The two enemy dragons would not interfere.

Vahlok raised his gaze to the sky where the triplet dragons circled, roaring and preparing to dive.

He shouted, "STRUN BAH QO!"

Miraak looked to the skies in sheer surprise. Dark clouds began to gather overhead, blotting out the gray sky and turning the heavens black. Warm wind swept through the trees, propelled by the thunderheads. Miraak had never heard such a shout as this, which controlled the very weather. The scent of rain flooded the surrounding air, and the sky opened with violent, torrential rainfall. Lightning flashed, thunder ringing in its wake.

"I shall show you that Keizaal itself denies you your power!" Vahlok spoke loudly over the storm.

The three dragons were silhouetted in a bursts of lighting now happening quickly, too fast to observe. Miraak broke out of his astonishment and silently urged the dragons into action. They dove towards Vahlok. All were injured, but ready to please their dragonborn overlord. Behind them, great bolts of lightning tore across the heavens. The electricity arced out. Mindahrel screeched, lightning striking him mercilessly. The beast went limp and he plummeted for the earth. He crash to the ground, which shuddered on impact. Relonikiv howled in alarm, twisting away to try and escape. Powerful electricity raced over his scales, and he too fell. Kruziikrel shouted something at the sky, but it did nothing against the violent storm. With a flash of lightning, the dragon dropped height suddenly, slamming down to the earth.

The three dovah struggled to rise. Miraak tried to call upon the magicka of the world, but it seemed as if Vahlok's storm were drawing all of it from the area, taking it for itself. The dragonborn had not enough internal strength to share with his dragons. He couldn't help them, he realized in anger.

"VEN GAAR NOS!" Vahlok shouted, slamming the bottom of his staff into the ground for emphasis.

The black clouds began to swirl in the sky. The dark condensation twisted on itself, spinning into a vortex. The wind picked up drastically, slinging both rain and snow sideways. Soon, hail was pelting from the sky, striking with anger and fury. A deep rift opened in the midst of the spinning formation, seeming to draw back into itself. A dark cyclone erupted from the black clouds and reached for the earth, a dark and demented formation intent only upon destruction. The summoned tornado slammed right into Relonikiv. There was a howl, and he was lost under the attack, the darkness swallowing him up. Mindahrel had made to it to his feet, but was flung away before he could fly. The attack spun towards Kruziikrel, who was lying still in the wet snow. The dragon raised his head and watched it come, unable to react. He was hit and thrown like a bag of straw hundreds of paces through the air to crash against the ground.

"LOK VAH KOOR!" Vahlok finished.

The vortex began to retract, and the formation disappeared into the sky. The hail and rain slowed, stopping altogether. There were a few more flashes of lightning before they faded away completely. Finally, the red, evening sun broke through the dark clouds. They dissipated, leaving only trails of moisture hanging in the sky. The air smelt fresh and strong, and the cold breeze that was normal for Keizaal flowed in.

Miraak finally found himself, breaking out of his surprise. He shivered, soaked, staring at the dragons lying inert upon the ground several paces from each other. Miraak could not rouse them through his connection. Fortunately, they were not dead.

"Impossible!" Miraak growled, angered, fire igniting in his veins. His inner dragon roared angrily, surging power through him. He instantly forgot that he was cold and soaked. He turned to Vahlok, feeling his dragon soul under his skin, growling and snapping in want of vengeance.

"Your unwilling servants will be free of you, Miraak," Vahlok stated, calm.

The traitor hissed in rage, power burning through his exhaustion. He raised his staff. It glowed, and a burst of lightning raced at his enemy. The guardian, already anticipating the strike, deflected the attack with his own magicka. The spells evaporated upon impact. Miraak threw more, but each time, it was calmly deflected.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The shout swept towards Vahlok.

The guardian responded. "FO KRAH DIN!"

The shouts failed upon meeting, pulling the strength from each other. "GAAN LAH HAS!" Vahlok shouted.

Miraak's ward shattered. The draining spell swept over him. The traitor drew his sword and summoned his thu'um again. "WULD NAH KEST!"

He sprang towards Vahlok. His sword fell down. The guardian blocked.

"SU GRAH DUN!" The enemy shouted.

The guardian's weapon swung around, glowing with a white power. The staff slammed into the traitor's side with unbelievable speed, which added to its power. He felt a rib crack despite his thu'um armor. Miraak snarled and thrust his weapon forward. Metal hit metal. The sword was deflected to the side. Vahlok's staff lashed Miraak's chest. The traitor coughed and staggered back.

Vahlok pressed for the advantage, swinging the staff down. Flames ignited its tip. The power surged through Miraak in a form of exquisite agony.

He responded through his pain. "TIID KLO UL!" He shouted.

Time slowed.

The world turned sluggish around Miraak, but he was free to move as he saw fit. The slowed time threw the world around him into various hues of blue. He moved, and before him, Vahlok may as well have been a statue. With lightning on the dragonborn's hands, he swung his blade. The guardian was too close and slow-moving to escape. The blade swept across Vahlok's face as Miraak's hold on time slipped away. Time was hard to hold onto. In the last vital instant, the guardian managed to pull away before his skull was punctured.

The two enemies staggered away from each other.

Vahlok looked up.

His mask fell apart, cleaved in two from the attack. The two pieces thudded softly in the snow.

 _Strange._

Miraak saw the man's face. It was cold, hardened, yet the lines of age showed faintly upon his brow. The dark rings under his eyes seemed to bring out the fury of his face. His brow was twisted in absolute anger. There was a bleeding cut on his nose and cheek where the sword had grazed him. He bared his teeth.

"This is going to end, Miraak! No more fooling around!"

Miraak felt like his limbs were made of lead. Heavy and unresponsive. After his last assault, he knew it'd be hard to keep going. His arms trembled in exhaustion. He gripped his staff tightly while sheathing his blade.

"Agreed!" Miraak retorted, realizing he felt much calmer. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, focusing upon the world around him. He could feel the residual power resting in it. He coaxed it to him, feeling his body strengthen with its help, his exhaustion lessening.

However, he was cautious in indulging this ability.

 _"There is a danger,"_ Nebrec had said. _"While you can indefinitely call the power of the world to your aid, you must not overuse this ability. Constantly healing yourself with the world's power or restoring yourself from complete exhaustion will make the structure of your existence insubstantial, reliant upon outside sources. When the world's power leaves you, as you must give it back eventually, then you will die. You will know the limit. It will feel as if your very soul is about to shatter."_

Miraak had not known what Nebrec had meant until now. He knew he was dangerously close to unraveling himself to the amount of power he'd drawn from the world in this fight alone. He would have to finish his battle the way he was. Killing Vahlok was all that stood between him and victory. Hevnoraak was incapacitated, and the dragons would bend to his will. With Hevnoraak and Juskkeinfaaz out of the fight, he was too close to winning, to lose.

 _I can do this...without anymore help from the dragons. The Triad were already weakened when I sent them against Vahlok. They are useless to me now, even if they are still too strong for me to take their souls._

The sound of hooves in the snow reached them both, and the fighters looked up. Upon the hill a distance away, there were three riders mounted upon horses. Dukaan, Ahzidal, and Zahkriisos raised their staffs, howling battle cries. The mounts came tearing down the hill, whinnying in excitement.

"All Vax shall die this day," Vahlok hissed grimly, meeting Miraak's gaze with cold purpose.

If the guardian had had any reservations, they had long since vanished. He had one duty, to protect, to guard. He was a guardian, and he would not fail. He would kill this traitor, as he should have done long ago. The bonds of family had made him weak, as Hevnoraak had said. It was blindingly obvious. This man, that had once been his son, had lost himself to greed and powerlust. He'd taken a daedra's gifts, and now he was lost.

No, he would not let this be his legacy. He would bring peace and reason back to the Dragon Order. Miraak's name...the traitor's name….would be forgotten, forever. As would the others.

It was time to end this for good.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Rel-onikiv(Dragon Name) - Dominate-Enlightenment_  
 _Mindah-rel(Dragon Name) - Knowledge-Dominate_  
 _Wah zey, Relonikiv! Mindahrel! Hi engein wah zey! - To me, Relonikiv! Mindahrel! You belong to me!_  
 _Iidah! - Attack!_  
 _Ofan mok suleyk, thuri. - Give him power, my overlord._  
 _Geh, Relonikiv. - Yes, Relonikiv._

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- So, as to why this is my favorite chapter. It's because this is the culmination of all of my character building and the tensions that were developed in the last 23 chapters. Every moment, I meant to convey the differences that lead to the tragic conflict between father and son, accented by a dragon aerial battle with them both riding a dragon, only to be followed by a very gritty, personal fight between them both on land! _

_I hope you enjoyed it. I apologize you must wait until next chapter to find out the end of the battle, and for these cliffies! XD If it makes you feel better, just imagine how long it would be if this fight was one whole chapter. :O_


	25. Sunset Battle: The Abyss

~D~

XXV. Sunset Battle: The Abyss

(Shulmah Grah: Faal Vulzid)

In battle, it was said a dragon could rise a numerous amount of times before death, no matter how often he'd been wounded. It was not a rumor, and for the most part, truth. This fact contributed to the thought that most dragons were nearly invincible, and that it was nearly impossible, even for another dovah, to land a fatal hit upon them; for a mortal, it was once unthinkable until Miraak had proven otherwise by stealing a dragon's soul. Riikathkrein was well aware. He knew as long as his vital organs, namely his brain, remained intact, he could rise again. As long as his wings were not torn or dislocated, he could lift into the air. The green dragon allowed these thoughts to fuel his movements, stirring him from his stillness. He raised his head.

Slowly, he collected himself, moving his aching body. Gazing around, he could see the other dragons he'd been fighting plus one more -the Triad. They lay hundreds of paces away, strewn about the battlefield like discarded and forgotten bags of sand. Dark burns lined their scales, like that caused by lightning and was the probable cause for their incapacitation. It was unlikely they would rise again before the fight ended; he could sense they would be down for some time.

Though in pain and exhausted, he would never forget his duty to the Dovah Relmaar. Slowly, he stepped forward. Balancing on his hind legs, he tested his wings by stretching them above his head and sweeping them down a few times. Both of them were whole, able to capture air under them, and it didn't hurt to stretch them. He focused upon the rest of himself, noting the gaping wounds in his scales. None were fatal, even though they seeped blood. He had suffered no deep head or neck injuries. Most of his enemies' bites had not penetrated deeply. He was fatigued by blood loss, but no simple weariness would keep him from a fight.

With a series of wing flaps, he was back into the air. He turned his gaze to Vahlok, who stood before the traitor Miraak. He could smell their weakness from the fight, a mixture of human sweat, blood, and adrenaline. He circled once, observing the battleground, planning on how he would assist. He saw the answer. Overland, he spotted three riders on horseback racing towards the traitor and guardian. Riikathkrein knew they were part of the traitors. He could smell the taint of the foul daedric magicka upon them, rising on the wind. It was similar to Miraak's scent. He would not let them help their traitorous ally.

As they rode forward, he descended upon them, teeth bared, tucking his wings in to give him an advantage in speed. He plummeted, never making a sound. After a moment, he extended his claws and flared his wings to slow his path. He twisted downwards in the sky, roaring his presence. The riders looked up.

"DRAGON!" One of them shouted.

"FUS RO DAH!" A man shouted.

Riikathkrein felt the force of it interrupt his path. His claws gouged into the earth below just before the horses, and they spooked. He pushed away from the land, lifting back towards the air.

"YOL!" the other man shouted.

Riikathkrein banked, avoiding the shout. He let out another roar, and it shook the ground. The horses, prey animals, had been acting erratically, but now they were uncontrollable. The green dragon snorted and observed as one of the mounts jerked aside, and the other two bucked, crazed with fear. Riikathkrein flew high as they abandoned the animals, unable to regain their mounts' senses. The steeds fled, speeding away quickly.

Riikathkrein dived for the riders again.

* * *

"He's coming back for more!" Dukaan yelled.

The large, green dragon swooped, his wings folding back once more to speed his descent. Ahzidal pulled a ward up, prepared for any shout the other might use. Zahkriisos sent electricity arching from his staff. It struck the dragon, but if it caused any damage or pain, the beast ignored it. It plowed into them, using its body to knock them down. Riikathkrein hovered back into the air. The mages collected themselves from the snow, and he opened his jaws, howling. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A wave of fire rushed them. Ahzidal's ward held it back, and he poured magicka into the shield until the stream of fire died away.

Dukaan shouted. "IIZ SLEN NUS!" A great wave of super-cold magicka swept towards the dovah.

Heavy ice formed along the dragon's chest and wing joints when it hit, pulling moisture from the air and freezing it. He dropped height, the heavy solid clinging to his scales, weighing him down. He smashed into the ground several paces away, shattering the ice. The ground shuddered beneath them.

"You are tough," Dukaan told the dragon.

Riikathkrein raised his head, his eyes glinting. "I am dovah." He raised himself, eyeing them all. He shifted his weight onto his hind legs, spreading his wings to increase his size - a threatening gesture. "I will not allow you to aid your traitorous ally. Vahlok will finish him, and your blood will fill my jaws!" He lunged.

Ahzidal had not been idle during those words. He unleashed the powerful fire from his staff that he'd been gathering. The dragon flinched away, avoiding the heat that was so intense, that it began to sear his flesh underneath his scales. Zahkriisos moved in from the side, his weapon raised. Lightning flickered to life along the dragon's body, burning already accumulated injuries fiercely. Snarling, Riikathkrein whipped his tail around. It smashed into Zahkriisos, who howled in pain. Several of the sharp spines on it sank into his body. He hit the snow, bleeding and struggling to move.

"Together, we can bring it down!" Dukaan said. A spear of her ice imbedded itself in the dragon's neck. He reared back, howling. The ice spear had managed to get in between his scales, penetrating into his neck deeply.

"Keep the pressure of the fight on it!" Ahzidal responded in agreement.

She launched more spears at the dragon, aiming for the spaces between his scales. The overall effect prevented him from lunging forward carelessly again unless he wanted to risk a spear piercing his skull. Ahzidal stepped beside her, hands aflame. He began launching balls of flaming heat upon the beast, fire bursting upon its scales and flesh. Riikathkrein snarled, trying to simultaneously recover and prevent serious injury.

"SHOUT WITH ME!" Dukaan yelled.

The both of them shouted together.

"YOL TOOR SHUL."

"FO KRAH DIIN."

The dragon howled, spinning away from the pain. He leapt into the air, the scales along his neck and face blackened from the constant fire and ice attacks. His wings propelled him away, and dark blood flowed anew from his body, seeping through his cracked and scorched scales.

"Don't let him escape!" Ahzidal said.

He hurried forward. Zahkriisos groaned nearby and collected himself from the snow, healing magicka held to the wounds upon his body. Dukaan rushed after Ahzidal, but she felt distracted quite suddenly, and her gaze was drawn to Miraak and Vahlok, who traded spells not far away.

* * *

Miraak clashed with Vahlok, feeling the drain upon his magicka, but he did not give in to his fatigue. He pushed through it. Staff lashing against staff, magicka bursting against magicka, they dueled each other mercilessly, each intent on victory and unwilling to lose. Flame, ice, and electricity swirled around them both in spells and cloaks of different types, coloring the air. The magicka shone bright in the setting sun which had nearly ducked beneath the horizon. The scent of burned robes and flesh filled the air. Cries of pain followed those in anger of deepest origins. Shouts were traded, roaring across the land with terrible power. The dragonborn fought with the ferocity of a dovah, and for all the weakness he'd considered Vahlok to have, he had seen nothing of the sort. He was matched. He could feel a grudging respect for the power the other had.

However, he despised it more than anything. He had never seen Vahlok fight, had never seen this man use his magicka to its full extent. How could he be this powerful? How could he be superior after all Miraak had gained from the Dwemer and Hermaeus Mora? The dragonborn knew that Hevnoraak had weakened him, but it should not have left him unable to match the other. He was frustrated beyond belief that he could not gain an upper hand, despite sensing that his opponent was also tiring.

His chaotic and speeding thoughts were interrupted when Miraak stumbled back, his feet switching in the snow. He pulled his staff forward, focusing a bolt of lightning before him. He unleashed the electricity in the staff, feeling nearly dizzy from the use of his attack. His vision swam, and he struggled to focus. Vahlok held his own staff before him, which seemed to absorb the power of the traitor's attack, dispelling it with ease. With a face full of cold purpose, he moved forward. Miraak tried to summon any amount of power to retaliate, but it was impossible. His shouts would not come to him, and neither would his magicka.

The dragonborn felt the weapon smash across his face. His vision blurred painfully behind his mask, and his already loose focus spiraled further.

 _Damn it._

The next attack, a direct lightning bolt, hit him squarely in the chest. He was flung back. He slid through the snow, slowing to a halt. His heart skipped weakly from the electricity. His breathing was tight and painful. He tried to stir, but it was impossible. He raised his gaze and saw Riikathkrein soar overhead, roaring in what sounded like pain. The dragon banked and descended.

 _The others…_

He heard Vahlok walking away.

 _No...I'm not done! You will not defeat me! I will not quit, until I am dead..._

He struggled to move. Putting his hands under his fatigued body, he found his breath slowly. He rolled over, his limbs as heavy as lead. He looked to see the others sparring with the dragon. Zahkriisos was healing himself where blood rushed from his shoulder profusely. Dukaan and Ahzidal stood, side by side, alternately fired frost and fire spells at the green dragon. Riikathkrein snarled, the power smashing into his muzzle. He reared his head, spilling fire upon them, but both threw up their wards in time and blocked it. They let their ward fall to launch more spells. Zahkriisos joined them this time, his lightning flashing brilliantly in the gathering darkness.

 _They have never fought a dragon before..._ Miraak thought.

"FUS RO DAH!" The dragon shouted. The two flew back, landing in the snow.

The dragon's maw descended, and his fangs caught one of the fighter's arms. Dukaan was pulled into the air. She struggled, but the dragon's jaws snapped her arm and shoulder like a frozen branch, the crack ringing forth loudly. She screamed, thrashing. The dragon flung her away, snarling, blood on his jaws. She hit the ground, still. The other two mages cursed and their attacks resumed with fury.

"No!" It tore from him in a weak gasp, but he found the strength to rise. Miraak staggered to his feet, his entire body aching incredibly. He was truly at his limits, every last ounce of magicka he'd used was drained from him, and he would not risk bringing more in to himself from the world around him.

He had not intentions of dying.

Ahzidal shouted, "GAAN LAH HAS!" The dragon was hit with the draining power. Riikathkrein hissed, head drooping in weariness. Ahzidal hurried forward, his weapon raised, power dancing through it.

A burst of electricity hit him, causing him to stumble back. Vahlok stood nearby, staff raised, the attack having burst from him.

Miraak stepped forward, wobbling, but his anger raged fiercely that he should fall in such weakness to the guardian. The dragon in him reared its head, eyes shining in defiance, roaring and pushing him onward. He knew it took a lot of strength and persistence to bring a dragon down. He was a dragon, he knew - dovahkiin, his soul was dragon, his blood was dragon. That was what mattered. Not only that, he had a destiny, and he would not fall so easily. Vahlok was a man...nothing more. The dragon that was in him would keep fighting. Miraak winced and took another, steadier step. He saw Ahzidal focus his power, fire burning along his staff. The fiery mage raised it, eyes upon the guardian. Miraak targeted Vahlok, who he could see moving to summon a ward.

 _Did you truly believe that I was down for good? Your flank is unprotected, you fool._

Miraak found his magicka now that he was no longer under the constant barrage of his enemy's attacks, and that power had been given time to gather. He pulled it to his hands and flung a weak firebolt before him. It may have been weak, but it'd be enough to give Ahzidal a chance. The attack slammed into Vahlok, who flinched, his ward forgotten in his realization that he had not defeated his enemy. He turned. Miraak saw the agony and surprise upon his face, and the dragonborn felt pure triumph.

Ahzidal's flames washed over Vahlok, and the guardian howled in pain.

Riikathkrein collected himself. He stomped forward, his footsteps ringing through the earth, causing it to shudder. Ahzidal did not flinch or back down when he faced the beast. He attempted to retaliate with his fire, aiming it at the dragon's face. The gout of fire flowed over Riikathkrein's already injured flesh and there was a pained snarl that followed. The dovah appeared to ignore the pain. The emerald beast lunged. He hit Ahzidal with his snout and whipped his head. The man went flying through the air, landing on his back in the snow.

The dragon charged, catching the mage in his claws. There was a cry of pain from the man. With a twist, the green dragon flew into the air, dragging Ahzidal with him. Within moments, a flash of fire illuminated the darkening heavens, a sign of the fire mage's resistance. Riikathkrein screeched and plummeted again. Dragon and man tumbled into the snow a hundred feet away, both rising again.

Miraak clenched his teeth, his eyes picking out Dukaan even in the distance and darkening light. She made her feet, her mangled arm hanging uselessly at her side, but her other hand clasped her staff. She staggered a few steps, and then stopped, gasping in pain. Miraak saw her hand glow in healing magicka. After a moment, the golden healing light faded.

 _Zin..._

He silently feared that her injuries were even worse than they had appeared.

"Well," Vahlok gasped, drawing Miraak's gaze again. His robes were burnt and his gaze was bright with pain. "That was an unworthy attack, Vax." He clutched his staff. "Alas, this fight grows old. Let us finish this."

Miraak heard a cry of pain. His gaze flashed to Ahzidal. The mage was pinned under the dragon. Dukaan moved forward, raising her weapon. She started throwing ice at the dragon again. Miraak looked back to Vahlok, whose face was as hard as stone, merciless, cold and intent.

"I will not...give up..." The desperate words crossed Miraak's mind as he stared down his foe, spoken aloud in his weakened voice. "My destiny...is to defeat you!"

However, he was losing. He knew it. He could feel it in the way his aching limbs felt far to heavy to move again. There was the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He could feel his vision beginning to darken and lighten to his own pulse, which had been pounding for the last hour or so. He gasped at the air, his body shaking just from standing. He saw his Vahlok still able to stand without much effort.

It was time to let nothing be held back. It was time to show Vahlok something else. He knew that if he didn't do something differently, he would die. It would not be too late to turn the battle to his favor, even in his exhaustion. The battle would be hard won, but it was vital that he win. He'd not been seeking death, not when he had a destiny to fulfill.

Vahlok approached him now, raising his weapon, preparing to attack.

Miraak brought his staff around, and gripped it with both hands. His arms trembled, but he ignored the exhaustion in his limbs. He concentrated on the power of the magicka woven into the land around him. He summoned the power of that energy. He pulled on the fabric its very being, dipping into the deep wells of power in the world. He knew that as long as he did not pull this magicka to himself, he would not fall. As long as he directed it away, his willpower would not shatter. He just needed a reaction to his willpower, and...

The world reacted.

The air crackled with energy, thick and heavy. The snow hissed like a serpent and steamed into the air. The ground heated beneath his feet, melting snow, rippling oddly with the power he was agitating. With a mighty howl, Miraak brought his weapon down. The staff's end struck the ground, and he tapped into that wild strength. He pulled all of that captured and deadly power, directing it through his staff. He unleashed it, and the effect was instant and rather satisfying.

There was a thunderous crack through the battlefield. The trees started to shake like crazed animals, rattling so hard, their brittle branches began to bend and snap. The snow that had perched upon these branches so comfortably for weeks fell in waves of powder, as if the wood was shaking it off. Then the trees themselves began to randomly explode from intense pressure of the magicka in them, the sound booming and deafening as wood and ice erupted in all directions. The land itself began to rumble, as if an earthquake were occurring.

Vahlok stared, disbelief on his features.

Riikathkrein's gaze snapped away from his enemy. The tremors he felt were unnatural, not of the land. The power of Nirn had been set into turmoil, throwing the magicks it held into chaos. It would have tumultuous consequences. He looked under his claws, where the snow was beginning to fall away into deep cracks opening under him. He flew into the air, startled by the way the world reacted to the traitor's power.

Like a hungry sabre cat, one edge of the earth rose up along a huge crack that was splitting the battleground. The other edge dropped, opening a deep rift. The chasm widened, and snow-covered trees and brush plummeted into the abyss, their roots unable to hold them. Dust from underground filled the air, pushed ahead by water. These muddy waters surged through the depths of the chasm, pouring wildly from deep under the soil, rising rapidly with frothing bubbles of trapped air from the damaged land.

The fighters were flung to the ground with the land's tremors. Whatever spell Vahlok might have been weaving was completely interrupted. Through the shaking, Miraak saw Vahlok pushing himself to his feet, steadying himself with magicka against the unstable footing. Miraak realized that the spell he used was one that altered reality in a short space to allow movement in difficult conditions. The guardian hurried forward.

"MIRAAK!" He yelled. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU FOOL!"

Miraak saw that the chasm was expelling cracks across the ground at him. They opened through the snow, revealing their presence, while the white powder plummeted. He used his own last surge of magicka to make it to his feet, knowing the danger of staying still.

His enemy was before him when he straightened. There was no time to react. Vahlok's staff swung towards him. A blast of ice hit the dragonborn, and he stumbled back against the stunning magicka. His foot slipped on a crack in the ground. Vahlok's staff was already charging with power again. A mini fissure abruptly opened under Vahlok's feet, and he twisted away, breaking off the spell.

Miraak's impression was of watching his father dance away from the edge that threatened to plummet him to his death. Vahlok froze, looking at him. An inexplicable look of fear passed his gaze, one that was so strange to behold. His hand seemed to reach out, fingers spread, but surely it was only a reflex. The dragonborn was falling. A second or two - or maybe an eternity - passed by as the abyss he had created swallowed him. His back hit the icy water and the air rushed from his lungs. The waves surged over him, pushing him down, and he fought against the suffocating pressure buffeting him. Darkness crept up on his vision as he was surged along the currents and thrashed against rocks and debris.

There was no way to resist the incredible power of so much water rushing, carving, reshaping the land. He was so cold, so tired. In fact, he was numb, completely unresponsive to the pain he felt. His mind went blank, and the world was nothing. His sight vanished.

Miraak had long since lost consciousness before the angry waves deposited his unmoving body upon a sandy shore.

* * *

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Dovah Relmaar - Dragon Government_


	26. The Jailor

_**A/N** \- Sorry this update is a bit late... I was struggling with my editing. Anyways, I wanted to have a thanks. This thanks goes out to those who have expressed their enjoyment of the story in some form or another. I thank those of you who have added this story to your favorites, followed it, or left a review. I feel bad that I can't respond to guests, but know that I have read every single review I've received, and I very much appreciate them. I will respond to all signed reviewers._

 _Enjoy the new chapter!_

 _Edit 2/28/16 - Fixed some errors._

* * *

~D~

XXVI. The Jailor

(Faal Kaask-Deinmaar)

 _The land has been broken,_ Vahlok thought. _I'll never find him..._

He walked slowly, holding onto the belief that he should be here. However, a part of him demanded he turn back, that he give up his quest. It was the same part of him that had berated him for allowing Miraak, through exile, to escape the Council's original plans for punishment. It was the part of him that called him a failure as a guardian, even when he had taken the fight to the traitor. It was the part of him that felt uncertainty, that questioned his every move, no matter how much he felt it right.

 _What could possibly be gained from this excursion? Perhaps the proof that I have somehow failed again?_

Still, Vahlok refused to entertain these dubious thoughts, even whenever they tried to return. He knew his duty was to see that his fight was finished. No, he could not leave this to chance again... How damaging that had been. With that thought in mind, any indecision he felt faded. There was no room for doubts, so why did they pester him?

He kept his pace steady and deliberate, careful that he miss nothing. His feet left prints in the wet sand while his eyes roamed the landscape dotted with trees and snow. He kept his focus away from the glittering waters to his side. However, for a moment, his gaze was brought to the bay and he stopped his progress to observe it. The waters glistened in the morning sunlight as if they bore along jewels, reminding him that he'd been out searching all night. He wondered again if he shouldn't just give up.

Miraak was most likely lost to him. For good, this time.

He turned and made his way up the sandy coast, his boots sinking a little ways into the soft mud. He reached higher ground, the land firm enough to support him fully. From there, he crested the hill, entering a more snowy terrain. He pivoted to look upon the newly-formed embankment he'd just been traveling, shaking his head in sheer amazement.

The old Dragon Wing River's former banks could not longer contain it. The waters flooded them. No, it wasn't just flooded. Its former banks had collapsed in. The river now spilled down a chasm, dropping into a channel that lead to the ocean, meeting fresh water with salt. More water flooded its old pathway to the ocean, seemingly brought from deep within the ground. Staring, Vahlok shook his head. He could not believe what destruction Miraak had summoned. The power he used was foreign, unknown, dark. Truly, the guardian must make sure the man was dead. He could not be left to threaten Keizaal again. He trekked down the hill, determined to find the object of his search.

 _I should have seen to this long before now._ He scolded himself quietly. _Did I not swear my life to defending my home? Now it has merely fallen to chaos._

Many hours passed, and Vahlok considered giving up his search. He maneuvered down a snowy path littered with the debris of broken trees before deciding to turn back to another sandy shore. He left the trees, scanning the area with sharp eyes. _T_ _here!_

He spotted a dark shape halfway in the river where the water met sandy shores. The shape lay still, unmoving, obviously out of place. Curious, he approached it. The closer he got, the more confidently he felt that it was a man. When he stood beside it, he knew his suspicions were confirmed; it could be none other than Miraak, and he was badly injured. His mask was gone, face pale, bruised and bloodied. His tattered robes lay about him, darkened with blood and water. His eyes were closed, his wounded body still. Deep lacerations and burns marked his chest and shoulders. He surely looked dead.

Vahlok glanced around before kneeling next to his quarry.

 _And so it has ended,_ he thought. "I was to kill you, and...it seems as though, it has happened." Vahlok felt no closure, though. No peace. Bitterness gnawed at his insides in spite of that nagging part of him that told him he had done right. He sighed. "And yet, you threatened my home and the Order. You had forgotten...what I have not. Duty, honor, loyalty. You weren't the only one with a destiny."

Vahlok closed his eyes, about to rise to his feet.

There was a faint gasp from the unmoving form. Miraak coughed, weakly gasping. After a moment, he stilled, his breathing ragged, but slow and deep. He was unconscious again.

Vahlok stared in amazement.

 _You fool,_ he rebuked himself again. _How carelessly I have handled this. I should have checked for a pulse. He yet lives, and I would have left him alive._

"Then you leave me no choice..." Vahlok gripped his staff. He stood, raising it. "I must end this here and now." He prepared his power, holding the weapon before him, ready to plunge it into the traitor's heart and end him once and for all.

 _It is my duty._

He stared down at the still, almost peaceful face of the fallen enemy. His thoughts were assaulted by a memory from long ago.

 _The child ran through the snow, laughing. His mother stood nearby and watched on, her eyes filled with love for her son. The boy turned, and for a moment, there was nothing but happiness in his eyes. He laughed. Vahlok put an arm around the woman's shoulders, amused when his son accidently toppled to the snow. The boy, now coated in white, stood up, knocking the snow from his hair. Their gazes met, and he regretted nothing: not his choice to have a family or leave the Dragon Order._

 _Vahlok loved his family._

He was pulled back to the moment, hands trembling as they gripped his weapon.

 _I feel nothing save for regret now. Is there no right choice?_

He could not end this man's life. Vahlok felt the summoned power leave him.

He inhaled deeply, exhaling bitterly. His voice was strained when he spoke. "You have forgotten...what I have not. You are still my son. It will not be _my_ duty to purge you from existence, only to stop you from threatening what I stand for - peace and order. I haven't failed my duty; I have _defeated_ you. It will be enough."

 _Damn it, Miraak. I know it is all lost on you. Perhaps death will take you still. Fine, I leave it to fate. You shall be properly tried and executed by the Dragon Order. Sooner or later, this ends...but not by my hand alone… I cannot..._

"I do not want to be your death. Sometimes, mercy is a strength as much as any action one takes to kill another." He turned and walked away, squashing the circling doubts in his mind. "I will go and find Lord Riikathkrein."

* * *

Miraak was gradually awakened by the sound of agitated voices.

He groaned and blinked his eyes open. The bright light stung his retinas, and he blinked several times, allowing his vision time to adjust to the new lighting. He clenched his teeth on the cloth in his mouth, acknowledging its presence stifling any shout he might have attempted to use. He shifted, his entire body aching in pain, and he found he could not lift his arms. Looking down, he saw his wrists bound in thick irons, far too heavy to raise in his exhaustion. He noted a blood-stained bandage over the jagged stab wounds on his chest. Here, the agony was the worst of all his wounds.

With a dejected exhale through his nose, he slumped, dropping his head back. It looked like it was over, and he'd lost the fight. How could it be possible? It was purely unfathomable that Vahlok was stronger than he. Hevnoraak had weakened him, surely. But it should not have been enough to cause failure on his part. When had the battle gone wrong?

 _Where are the others... Are they alive? Is Zin?_ He tried not to fear the worst.

His brooding thoughts were interrupted when the voices raised again. They were now loud enough that he could make out what they said.

"You are an imbecile!" Hissed one very familiar voice. It could be none other than Hevnoraak.

"Leave here." Vahlok coldly responded.

"You are going to let the traitor live!?"

"Are you going to hurl this same question at me all day, Hevnoraak? My answer will not change. His betrayal matters little now..."

"Let me through, Vahlok. I want to teach that worthless boy a few things that seemed lost on him. He has no right to exist after everything he has done. Why, if you are too soft to tear his heart out, then allow me to do it."

"That's not your decision, Hevnoraak. As the one who defeated him in combat, it is mine. We know he was far beyond you."

"Because you did not follow with the plan. You failed that plan, Vahlok. Instead of attacking advantageously after mine and Juskkeinfaaz's assault, you waited until the traitor had nearly taken over half the dragons on the field! You fool! You were incompetent!"

"Neither of us knew Miraak would take the dragons' minds... Besides, I only agreed to help you because I was not in the power to say otherwise. Now, you stand before my men, in _my_ power. I _will_ exert my will when I command you to leave."

"You said you wanted to kill him. You agreed to our plan. What has changed?"

"You are not the only one who knows how to lie, Hevnoraak. Oh? Didn't think I had it in me, did you? Did you truly believe I expected you to actually honor your part of the agreement? No, you would not. Why would you? You could only gain from betraying me, and snake that you are, you had every intention to."

Miraak could hardly believe what he was hearing. Vahlok seemed to be breaking rules left and right, something that was unlike the man... Or had he misread him, once again?

"To think, they call your name honorable," spat Hevnoraak, obviously thinking along the same lines. "At least my existence - my name - isn't a lie. I will have my due, Vahlok. The little shit burned away my eye. I will take both of his with nothing but a stick."

"Settle yourself, Hevnoraak. This is not your domain. Now leave before I call Lord Riikathkrein. He knows who has the ground here."

"You are soft...soft as new flesh. I'm going to destroy everything you stand for, Vahlok."

"Alas, a redundant threat. That has already been accomplished. Leave. I am done repeating myself."

"I will break you..." There was a savage hiss from Hevnoraak, but Miraak heard his boots stomping down the hall.

Miraak relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. He hadn't realized he'd been so tense. He'd half expected the conversation to go far worse, for Vahlok to be killed, and he hadn't wanted to be helpless and bound in the face of Hevnoraak's wrath. However, he did not think that Hevnoraak would truly back down, and surely, he hadn't. No, he had simply left to gather enough information or strength to destroy his new problem.

He had never been interested in a fair fight.

Miraak nearly jumped when the door burst open and his thoughts were once again interrupted.

"Miraak," stated Vahlok when he saw his prisoner awake. He exhaled. "I suppose I am foolish for it, but...as you can see, you yet live." He leaned against the bars of the cell. Finally, after seeming to reach a decision, the man opened the door to the cage.

Miraak thought it strange to see the unmasked face out of combat. Somehow, that face seemed far more aged than it had when Miraak had seen it on the battlefield. Then, the dragonborn recalled that he had been the one to destroy the man's mask, and it brought him a small stab of satisfaction. However, that satisfaction drained in the wake of recalling that he had been the one to ultimately lose. Resentful inside, he glared into the gray eyes of Vahlok, trying to make out what the other was thinking. It proved impossible.

"I..." started the guardian, trailing off. He sighed and continued. "I am troubled by this... Will you promise not to shout? I will take the gag. I need to speak with you...about many things."

Miraak nodded slowly. Vahlok entered the cell and removed the cloth.

Miraak could see no advantage to shouting. Most likely, he would only worsen his own condition, and he wouldn't be anywhere near escape. There were still the irons, the door to the room, and the halls themselves full of Vahlok's men. There was also one very angry Hevnoraak storming through the temple and the dragon, Riikathkrein, somewhere beyond.

He was not stupid.

Vahlok exited the cell, shutting it. He locked it, his eyes distrustful. His expression relaxing somewhat when he had finished.

Bend Will might have been an option, but looking at his captor, he was fairly certain that his thu'um would not be able to manipulate Vahlok for long. The shout was most effective against those with weak willpower, and Vahlok had just bested him in battle. Besides that, dragons were far more susceptible to the shout, seeing that it turned a concept they couldn't fathom onto themselves. The outcome was too unpredictable to risk using it on a powerful human as a sole means to escape.

"What do you want, Vahlok?" Miraak finally said, irritation biting at his thoughts. "An apology? A surrender? What?"

The other ignored his question. "You've been in and out of consciousness for several weeks, on the brink of death."

"My wounds still persist?"

"I left your life to fate. I did not heal or harm you further. You've pulled through on your own."

He'd been rejected by death once again. "What became of the others?" he asked.

"They still live, I believe. After the battle, I have not seen them...well, except for Dukaan. She wanted to speak with you, but I turned her away."

Miraak shifted, leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "I am not surprised."

"You were unconscious, and I knew she would want to heal you and possibly try to break you out... I am not going to risk more bloodshed over this affair... On the other hand, much has occured while you were out. I was named guardian of Solstheim not long after the battle."

"Solstheim?"

"This island...you created." He grimaced. "The powers you unleashed triggered an earthquake and rerouted the river. An entire area was flooded. A channel was created between Solstheim and the mainland. This island was renamed...before. Well..."

Miraak snorted, "Ridiculous." Yet, he could recall the way his power had erupted the ground, and he'd fallen into the broken land. Not only that, he very well doubted Vahlok would have any reason to be dishonest about this.

"Well, believe or not...it is the truth. It took me a day to find you half-dead upon the shores."

"Then why didn't you let me die? Must I suffer this humiliation?"

"I was originally holding you for trial...but plans have changed. You are a traitor to a lost order, now. As are the others. It is no longer my place to hunt them down. Thuri Alduin the World-Devourer is gone, the order collapsed."

"The Dragon Order...and Alduin...are gone?"

"Yes, the rebels won...revolutionaries now, I suppose. I imagine that there are still pockets of resistance, but the Dragon Order and its members are no longer recognized as the law of the land by the peasants. All has fallen to chaos."

Miraak could not believe those words either. "They killed the Destroyer?" Impossible. It was only he who could have wrought death on the Firstborn. No one could have stolen that destiny from him. No one.

"No," Vahlok responded. "At least, I do not think so. Lord Riikathkrein said that he did not feel him die, only...fade. He thinks that he is simply lost in the vast currents of time, somehow cast adrift. The rebels seem to have used an ancient power to banish him. I do not understand it. Can you believe it?"

Miraak did not understand it either. What power did they stumble upon that could have conquered Alduin? However, if the dragon was not dead, then he would be back.

"Are the dovah still your gods?"

"I...do not know what to think anymore. I see now that you were right in one way. Things _are_ changing. I saw Konahrik burned in Bromjunaar. Barely screamed, that tough old man. I saw his burnt corpse being paraded in the square before angry but celebrating warriors. It's said Lord Juskkeinfaaz was killed, and his golden scales were pried from his flesh to decorate many a man's armor." He flashed his gaze over to the fireplace in the room. "I have no place left but here. Lord Riikathkrein agrees with me. The peasants of Skyrim would destroy us with sheer numbers."

"Then you must let me free. Fate has determined that I will live. I have won my freedom." Miraak pushed himself upward so that he was no longer slumped against the wall. "Alduin will return, and I must be there to stop h-"

Vahlok hands slammed against the bars, his face twisting in anger as he gripped them hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "No...I swear by whatever remains, Miraak, that I will never loose you upon this world again."

"What?" Miraak scowled, agitation building.

"You are the pawn of an evil spirit, seduced by its power. I will not let that run rampant. If you have sold your soul to the daedra, then there is nothing left I can do for you. I tried to warn you."

"I would explain how I have sold my soul to nothing...but you would not believe me. Again."

"No, I would not."

"You never have!" Miraak snarled, "You would bound me, sparing me from death, but freedom would be too much. This is humiliating!"

"You would destroy yourself, Miraak."

"Impossible!"

"And if it were not for me, you'd be dust already. You can call yourself very self-destructive!"

Miraak closed his eyes. "I cannot stay here. That is not my destiny."

"Really? If you want out of there so badly, then I'll just go invite Hevnoraak to visit. He'd love that." Vahlok's face twisted. "He'd be more than pleased to _free_ you. I hear he wants your eyes for ornaments. Or maybe to replace the one you scorched from his face."

His threat was empty. Miraak knew he was far too prideful to relent to Hevnoraak like that. The dragonborn chuckled humorlessly. "Is that all, _Father_?" He spat in scorn.

"So it would seem, _Son_." The older man returned. Vahlok pivoted on his heel to leave.

Miraak muttered, "Why do you not kill me and spare me of this annoyance?"

The guardian stopped, and his shoulders slumped. "It should be no father's destiny to claim the life of his son. Miraak, I am...regretful that it has come to this. Perhaps things could have been different, but it matters little now."

Miraak watched Vahlok look at his hands, and they clenched.

"Before I go," the guardian said. "There is one more thing I want to share with you. That ring I gave you...was your mother's... I cannot believe that she also served Herma-Mora. The reason I gave it to you, truly, was because she asked me... I was sickened at the realization that I was tricked into starting the chain of events that destroyed all I stood for...by the woman I loved, no less." He approached the main door to the room. "I do not wish to speak with you anymore, Miraak. I will stand watch, and if you so much as find the slightest chance of escape, I will crush it."

The door slammed shut and the dragonborn could only stare after his jailor, speechless. So it was true. His mother _had_ understood his destiny...because Hermaeus Mora had somehow imparted it to her. It surely connected to that poem-verse she used to tell him. He would never have guessed she had ever served the daedra he had gained so much from. Was that why she had left?

Then, he remembered that very ring that now lay on his hand, had once been on hers. That was why it had seemed so familiar when he had first obtained it.

He realized that he had never truly known his mother.

* * *

.

* * *

 **A/N** \- _There's no Dovahzul this time._

 _Alright, readers. Two more chapters for Part One. I sincerely hope you guys and gals will stick around for Part Two. Do be warned that I will be introducing some elements that are considered Alternate-Universe in fanfiction slang(this means that they do not follow strictly to what happens in the game) but with respect to the game. This is just a heads-up, in case that's not your forte._


	27. The Prisoner

_**A/N** \- Sorry for the super-long delay. A lot of transformation has gone on for this chapter the last couple of days. A lot of the content changed, and then it grew very long. I decided to cut the chapter into two, so here is the first part. Some of the problem was that I started 'telling' details that I thought would be more meaningful 'shown'. And now they are 'shown'. Oh, and because of this, chapter 29(instead of chapter 28) is now the last chapter of part one of the story._

 _Also, I've edited some errors in last chapter._

* * *

~D~

XXVII. The Prisoner

(Faal Grunzah)

After the truth had been conveyed, there was nothing more spoken between father and son, and the silence conveyed far more than a thousand words ever could. The dragonborn was left alone to his thoughts. He was imprisoned for what the guardian intended to be the rest of his life. Did he really believe that he could hold Miraak for so long? It was only a matter of time before he found a means of escape. Truthfully, Miraak found the entire situation absurdly ridiculous. Had this entire confusion over his imprisonment been centered on Vahlok's belief that a father should not take his son's life? With some annoyance, he easily made the connection between the guardian's claims and his actions, and the words rang true.

 _That is why he exiled me from Bromjunaar Gaard during the Summit, instead of trying to kill me... I suppose he thought I could still be the blind, obedient, dragon-worshipper that he wanted me to be. N_ _o, he wanted me to be more than that. He wanted me to be like him. He didn't want a legacy of power, but one of peace..._

 _The Dragon Order was not peace! How could he condone its actions...?_

 _I failed his expectations, and so he has locked me up in here, somehow thinking that I'm broken yet he simply could not let me die. How could he find this the right choice instead? Is this peace to him?_ _Vahlok, wise and cunning they say, but I do not see it... He shames me like this. If a father ever truly cared for his son, then he would not condemn him to such an existence. To be trapped in this empty, lonely room, with nothing… Does he truly feel that there is something to be gained from this? Perhaps I will understand it, in time. Perhaps not._

 _He said that he regrets what has happened, but refuses to believe anything I have said. Why can't he see what I am? If he'd only ever bothered to understand…like Mother. She knew...or she would not have asked him to give the ring to me. Or maybe she didn't know and was only doing what was asked of her? I wonder what she would think of all that has occurred? Surely she would be pleased that the Dragon Order is gone, even if not by my own hands._

And he had nothing better to do than think unending, unsolved thoughts in circles around and around each other as he sat there. Any time he thought he had reached a conclusion, it was quickly shot down by his uncertainties. _It is impossible to answer these questions, stuck in this cell._

The room was silent and bitterly cold. Miraak began to feel frustration clawing at him that he could do almost nothing except think. He knew nothing of his surroundings beyond the small room, but Miraak had no doubt that his father was somewhere on the other side of that door, cold, unwavering, and resolute in his duty. The dragonborn knew that he wasn't going to return.

He didn't know how much time had passed before the door clanged open again. Miraak looked up, eyeing the approach of the guard. He studied the man, but could note nothing remarkable about him. He wore an armor mixed with steel and gold. Animal fur - perhaps bear or deer - decorated it in places. Instead of a helmet on his head, however, he wore a mask that hid all of his identifying facial features, like that of the dragon priests of the fallen Dragon Order.

Miraak noticed that he held a tray in his hands, on which rested a cup and bowl. From the angle, he could not see what was in the cup and bowl.

It was unfortunate that it was far too soon to tell if Bend Will might have been in an option. However, he doubted it, considering that he was in a weakened state from his barely-healed, slightly-aching wounds. Also, it hadn't been long ago that he had heard Hevnoraak and Vahlok arguing. He did not know where they were now, but he could not secure a release if they were both on the other side of door somewhere, which was a possibility. Not only that, he knew that there was an army of foes out there, waiting to take him down if he tried to get free.

It'd have to wait until he was stronger and had recovered himself.

"I am Commander Valdar," the guard informed. "I've been tasked with seeing that you remain alive and in your cell."

"Vahlok is too good to do it himself?" Miraak jibed.

"Vahlok is too _busy_ to deal with you," the commander responded. "Why he is bothering to keep you alive, I still don't understand. If I had any doubts before, they are now gone; you're obviously far more trouble than you're worth."

"I'm worth more than you, _obviously._ " He smiled at Valdar scathingly. The commander moved to unlock the slot near the bottom of the cell that would allow him to slide the tray in, which contained food and water. After doing so, the commander turned to leave, but Miraak said, "Wait."

Valdar stopped, looking back impatiently. "Now what, oh mighty one?"

"What is this?" Miraak demanded, ignoring his mockery. He scrutinized the gruel in the bowl, face twisted. "It looks like a diseased sabre cat's feces."

"That's food, you imbecile. You don't have to like it. You just have to eat it."

"I imagine that you want me defenseless," Miraak said, a thought entering his mind. "You have drugged this with a type of magicka poison, I assume?"

"You assume correctly," the other responded, folding his arms. "Some methods carry over well from the Dragon Order, don't they? You will not be a danger to us. We have enough problems without worrying about you being hard to recapture, should you _accidently_ escape."

"What problems?"

"That's none of your concern."

"I will simply not eat it." Miraak leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth. He sneered, "It smells worse than a pile of decaying skeever corpses and rotten cabbages. Is that what its composed of? Either way, I can only imagine the taste... It will be easy to resist."

The faceless mask stared at him, replying smoothly, "Maybe not as easy as you think... You'll eventually find it rather irresistible... If ever a round of guards that will be checking in on this cell for various reasons come to find that you haven't touched your meal, then they are under my orders to shove it down your throat. And don't think they won't know if you've poured it out. Your cell's much too small to hide a bowl of soup, spilled or not. Plus, that still leaves the water, something you cannot live without for very long."

 _That's troublesome._

"Why wasn't I dosed while unconscious?" Miraak asked, genuinely curious.

"Vahlok did not want to affect your condition in any way. A dosing might have hindered the natural healing process... He was not willing to risk that." With that, Valdar turned and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath.

Miraak stared after him. He cursed, realizing that he could not resist. He was angry at being so helpless.

However, he wasn't going to quit hoping for freedom. There was a stubborn part of him that decided he wasn't going to give up just yet. He refused to believe it ended like this, that he was simply going to waste away in this place. He was still dragonborn. He could still rule what he'd intended to. He just had to find a way to regain his strength. Zin was out there, and his other allies. They would come for him… They had to.

Unfortunately, Miraak still knew that it was unlikely he could escape being drugged.

Scowling, he looked at the meal with disdain. _Fine, let them try to force it down me._ Even if he knew his resistance would end in failure, his pride demanded that he try. _I will make this just as difficult for them._

* * *

"What's this?" The guard asked, kicking the cell bars. His masked face was turned upon the untouched food and water of the prisoner.

Miraak jibed back, "Are you too dumb to see what it is? Perhaps you are a blind? If so, you're finding your way around the room just fine... As for this... It's obviously a diseased sabre cat's urine."

The man was not amused when he spoke. "Commander Valdar said you were being stubborn." Two more guards walked up to stand on either side of him. He continued, "Whatever's in that bowl, eat it, or I'm going to come in there to teach you how."

"I'm about to faint in fear and bow to your demands," Miraak mocked. His foot lashed out, catching the bowl and cup. The contents spilled upon the floor, spreading over the stones. "There, if there were any doubts about whether I spilled it or not," he grinned savagely, "Then they are gone."

The guard actually chuckled in response. "I see...well, don't say you didn't ask for it." He began to unlock the cell, motioning at the others.

Miraak tensed, readying himself. He may not have been in the best condition, but he wasn't about to allow them to make it worse. He sat up, taking a deep breath, summoning his power. The door opened just as he shouted, "GOL H-"

The guard slammed his fist across Miraak's face. A shock of pain flashed through the prisoner, and he shook his head, dizzy from the force of the punch. Before he could recover, the guard covered his mouth with a cloth, shoving him back. The other two guards held onto his arms to prevent him from striking with his shackled fists. Together, the trio held him down against the floor. He struggled, thrashing against his captors, to no avail.

The first guard pulled a dagger from his belt with his free hand. He held the blade to Miraak's arm, and drew it back with a quick motion. Miraak flinched at the sharp agony, pushing up with his arms, but the guards were too strong to shove away.

The man pulled a small bottle from his pocket and opened it. He tapped a few drops of its contents onto the newly-made cut. It burned fiercely, stinging badly enough that, without meaning to, Miraak bit into the cloth preventing him from shouting. His arm trembled in response to the sensation, and he could feel the fiery poison spreading through his limb, racing for his pounding heart. He knew it was highly potent, or it would not have been so painful. The guard placed several more drops on the wound, and though Miraak resisted, he could not escape the poisoning liquid. He was too exhausted, too weak.

They held him for several moments while the drug took effect. He felt dizziness cross his mind, and his arms and legs became heavy, nearly unresponsive. He felt as though his thoughts were being smothered. He had suspected from the beginning that the shackles were suppressing his magicka, but now it felt as if his power was buried so deep, he could not reach it, regardless of the restraint. Worst of all, the strength required to focus his vital essence into a thu'um was also beyond reach.

He felt incredibly weak.

"Next time," growled the guard, "Just eat the damned diseased sabre cat piss. It'll be less unpleasant that way."

The trio of the guards stood, releasing him.

Miraak spat out the cloth, glaring at them balefully, "I will not. I refuse to remain here for the rest of my life!" He struggled back into a sitting position, the room swaying before him. He closed his eyes, head pounding.

The guard said, "It seems you are going to have a rather miserable time here."

As if that weren't evident enough.

They walked out of the room, the door shutting with a click.

* * *

Commander Valdar leaned against the cell. "Well, mighty Miraak? I don't think your plan is working out for you so well," he commented. "You've been rather determined to escape your meals..." To Miraak, he sounded like he was smirking. "But as you can tell, there is simply no getting out of it. Are you going to make me send for the guards again? I think they are getting decently good at their work."

Miraak closed his eyes. He lay upon the floor, not looking up at his antagonist, saying nothing. What was the point? The man knew he was winning, and anything he said or didn't say would amount to the same thing. He was weak. He was pathetic. He could not shout. Why should he be doing anything but complying, when defiance had so far gained him nothing except misery? He wasn't any closer to escape.

He was tired of fighting a fight that he had no way to win.

"Do you want to be force-fed _again_?" The Commander snorted, looking at the tray in his hand. "That would make this... the twentieth time? More? I've lost count..."

"I believe it was more," Miraak muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Valdar asked. He plowed on as though he didn't want to hear an answer to his question. "You do realize that this is going nowhere, don't you?"

"I know," Miraak responded, wanting the commander to be gone. "Just leave the tray. I'll eat the food..."

"Good to hear. I thought perhaps you were even more foolish than I originally suspected." He slid the tray into the cell and waited. "Well?"

Miraak looked up. "What?"

"Did you lie?"

"No...I'm...just taking my time."

With reluctance, he sat up. To be done with it, he quickly grabbed the bowl with both hands, and downed the thin soup ravenously. It was mostly flavorless, which was better than it tasting terrible, but the gap between the two was small. He dropped the bowl back onto the tray and claimed the cup, chugging down the water. When finished, he let go of it just as unceremoniously. He was often very hungry and thirsty when they brought the meals, despite his typically rebellious actions.

The commander watched the entire process, and for once, Miraak was grateful for his faceless mask. "Happy?" He snapped, lying back down and closing his eyes again.

"Yes, actually."

He heard the commander pull the tray back from the cell and walk out.

* * *

Miraak did not know how much time had passed.

 _What does it matter, though?_

The small, sputtering flames of the fireplace drew Miraak's gaze. He sat still and watched the fire dying away, flickering on its coals and threatening to go out. _The guards will soon return to relight it. I wonder if they tire of their task? No, they are mindless and heartless, doing everything they are told without any deviation or emotion._

He despised them.

He'd lost track of the amount of _meals_ he'd 'received'.

 _Humiliating._

His mind turned away from that, back to the fireplace. The fire was the only non-constant in the room. Often times, it burned out, and the guards would return to bring back to life. He always stared at them in silence, hoping to unnerve them while they completed their task. At least, he hoped he unnerved them; he could never know for certain. They never looked his way, and if they had, their traditional mask would have destroyed any chance of telling how they felt. However, the fact that they refused to even look at him was enough to make him reasonably sure that his stares were unsettling.

He couldn't unnerve those that brought his food, that much he did know.

 _I imagine Valdar was pleased when I started accepting the meals, the drug, willingly._

With that miserable thought in his mind, he closed his eyes, ignoring the hollow ache in his stomach which kept gnawing at him persistently. The food he received was not enough to sustain him, he was certain, and he was slowly starving. He knew the commander was doing it on purpose, probably hoping that he would just drop dead and he wouldn't have to bother over him. There was nothing Miraak could do about it, so he allowed himself a few moments to think of little.

Then, sleep claimed him.

* * *

He floated in the silent darkness as though he were deep under an ocean. Far above his head, the green light shone, but he ignored it. He stayed still, not wanting to move. There was freedom, to be here. It was beautiful to simply be nowhere, to know that there was nothing to do but relax.

Still, a nagging sensation came to him, and it grew until he knew he needed to move. Reluctant, he observed the light. He began to strike out for it, and his unwillingness faded. For however much he wanted the peace and freedom of the darkness, he wanted that place of light more.

He wanted to have a destiny, and he wanted to be in control of his own fate.

A voice whispered to him, _"Miraak..."_

* * *

Miraak started awake. The flame had burned down now, and all that remained was a pile of glowing coals. Lying still, he could feel the chill of the floor seeping into his body. He stretched a little and leaned forward. He shifted until he was more comfortable, and lay, silent and still upon the cold floor, curling up for warmth. He felt like a weak child, starving and cold.

 _What does Vahlok hope to accomplish with this? I refuse to believe that he has not killed me because he does not want that responsibility. There are others who are willing, so what is the reason?_

 _Does he know the cruelty with which his men have treated me? Did he order it?_

 _Where are my allies? Why haven't they come for me yet?_

 _Why is there no way to escape?_

 _Why did Mother leave?_

 _Why did I fail?_

 _Is this how I will die, alone, hungry, and cold?_

So often he thought a jumble of unanswerable questions and pointless words, that he could barely contain the hatred that started growing in its wake.

He decided he would just try to sleep. At least it brought him freedom.

* * *

He struck out towards that light, crazy with desperation, clawing at the murky darkness. The light seemed to get closer and closer, but he could not reach it. He flung every ounce of himself into that movement, that push, that desire, and yet, for all his struggling, there was nothing to gain.

After a moment, he stopped and began to sink again. With a panic, he thrashed forward once more, but the light was even farther away. Like always, the darkness swallowed him in the end. There was a shore out there, but he'd never reach it.

 _"Miraak...it seems you are lost..."_ that voice whispered. It was familiar, but indiscernible from any other.

* * *

Miraak opened his eyes, shivering in cold. His entire form ached from the biting chill, so he sat up. A noise caught his attention, and a guard barged into the room, his faceless mask turning to the dead fire. He shrugged and hurried towards the cell. Quickly, using the slot in the bars near the floor, he slid the tray into the cell and snatched his hand back as if a serpent were about to bite him.

Surprised that Valdar had not brought the meal this time, Miraak watched him leave. After several minutes, the door to the room opened again. Two more guards walked in and began to work on re-lighting the fire.

Miraak slowly moved, his shackles rattling, and he pulled the tray towards him, ignoring the guards. With both his wrists trapped together, eating always proved awkward and degrading when he could not just drink it down. However, he refused to care as he stared at the insubstantial food. No, all that mattered was the dream he kept having of the green darkness with the light, and surviving to relive it again and again. After he had eaten, he'd sleep again. He thought, _I need to reach that light. Then, I will be free of this place._

It was a weird thought, he knew, but it felt like truth.

* * *

Miraak thrashed madly upward, no longer feeling freedom in the deep, green waters. No, he felt as if he were drowning in the dark pool he was trapped in. He pushed and pushed, but no matter how hard he worked, he never got closer to his goal. The black water closed upon him. He was suffocating, drowning, screaming inside his own head. His limbs pushed upward, feeling like jelly. His body burned with exhaustion. There was no way to continue on. He howled, crying out the need for freedom, but his voice did not exist.

He lashed out. He felt his thoughts reach something, like a line cast out to an island in the middle of an ocean and hooking onto something solid. A restraint upon him seemed to melt away. Without warning, he was moving again, and the exhaustion was gone. Free, he silently laughed with a joy he'd never experienced before in this dream. He moved easily, eagerly, and the light approached. He could see the break in the waves.

He pushed free of the darkness. There was no splash to accompany his exit of the dark waters. When he broke free, he looked up.

The source of light was a large eyeball surrounded by tentacles.

 _That's…_

"Ah, Miraak," Hermaeus Mora said in a calm tone. "I do not intend to leave you at their mercy for much longer...my champion."

"Help me!" He cried in desperation, feeling himself beginning to slip away.

"And so I shall..."

Miraak wasn't sure what to feel. Primarily, he was awed. It'd been too long since the daedra had been apart of his life. Now, he could see his mentor in all his terrible glory. And one hopeful word formed in his thoughts.

 _Salvation._

He trusted the one who'd helped him find his destiny.

He lost his grip on the dream and fell through the darkness.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul** _ \- _there is none._

* * *

 _ **A/N** _ - _Whew, that was a gritty and miserable chapter, but I hope you made it through! I hope this chapter was entertaining, as I'm not that confident in my writing of these 'things are going to the protagonist's head' type chapters._


	28. The Savior

~D~

XXVIII. The Savior

(Faal Saviik)

Since Miraak had experienced the dream of Apocrypha, he felt that more time had passed. If the guard activity was any indicator, it'd been a troubling length of time - a week or two, perhaps. He couldn't be sure because he still didn't know how often the guards truly came. Along with that, he was still trying to determine whether the dream had even been real or not. Could he truly reach Hermaeus Mora in a dream? Or had it been a clever trick of his imagination? If it were the former, how was it possible? Apocrypha was accessible only through the black books he had used.

 _Unless, somehow, there is a part of it in my mind somewhere._

The thought was surely strange, but hadn't he linked his mind countless times to that world? When he visited Apocrypha, the journey was as much about going into his own mind as it was to a plane of Oblivion. He'd spent much time there, reinforcing such a connection, if it existed. He could not deny the possibility that he might be capable of reaching it in a dream. He couldn't deny it at first, anyway. Now, it seemed more likely that it had been his subconscious playing a cruel trick on him. Since the hopeful dream, there had been no indication that he was about to find his freedom.

Knowing such thoughts would not help, he pushed them away. As he did so, he heard the sound of movement outside the room. The door opened slowly, and Miraak looked up, feeling a fleeting moment of surprise. The guards had just relit the fires, so what were they doing back so soon? Actually, to make it more unusual, the guard was carrying nothing to indicate his purpose.

The mask of the guard turned towards him, and he approached the cage, walking lightly, as if not to make any noise.

That was odd.

Miraak silently corrected himself. From the slighter figure of the guard, he could tell that the person was actually a woman, not a man. She reached the bars, pulled free a key from her pocket, and slipped it into the door, opening it. The dragonborn felt surprise. What was she doing?

"Miraak," the woman whispered.

A ray of hope filled him. He knew that voice! He hadn't been abandoned!

"Zin," he returned, voice weak.

She knelt beside him, unlocking his shackles. "I am sorry it took me so long," she murmured, voice apologetic and worried. "Ahzidal and Zahkriisos are supposed to be waiting outside for us… We had determined that a direct assault on this facility would only end in failure, and it took me weeks to infiltrate the guard properly." She spoke swiftly, trying to convey the info quietly but clearly. "Vahlok has a lot of protection against infiltrators...which made my entrance difficult. After I got in, it took several _more_ weeks to learn where they were holding you and the best possible escape routes...without raising suspicion. Most of the guards don't even realize you're a captive...only a select few carry that secret."

"Thank you…" Miraak said. He was far too glad that he had not been abandoned to feel anything else but relief. "I'm ready to never see this place again."

"We're leaving for good." She assured.

He took her hand, and she braced herself. Steadying himself, he clambered awkwardly to his feet and stumbled a little, leaning against her for support for several seconds. "They…" he trailed off, inhaling slowly before speaking again. "Unfortunately, they have been drugging me. My magicka will not come to me, even with the shackles gone." He drew another shaky breath. "I won't be able to shout… I feel very weak." He straightened himself, despising the way his legs trembled.

Zin whispered, "Don't worry. You don't need to fight. We'll do this quietly..."

"A pity," Miraak replied. His voice abruptly filled with anger. "Nothing would have made me feel better than to step over Valdar's corpse on the way out."

"Another time, Miraak. Follow me, but stay quiet. Don't make a noise..."

The two of them made for the door, walking slowly.

Zin found herself concerned. Miraak was far weaker than she would have expected him to be, and she mentally scowled. Why hadn't she anticipated that Vahlok would drug his prisoner? He was taking absolutely no chances. Perhaps she could have found a way to prevent the poison from getting into his meals, but that would have been unlikely. The guard commander probably oversaw the dosing personally. Regardless of what she might have done, there was no time to worry over it now.

She still did not understand why Vahlok had gone through so much trouble to imprison him, but she knew it was up to her to make sure Miraak escaped in one piece. She hoped that he would be able to make it, as exhausted as he was. The thought of failing set her on edge.

They exited the chamber cautiously. Outside the door, the hallway turned into two directions, one leading down towards the main chambers, and the other back to a storage area, she remembered. It was in the latter direction that they traveled. Zin, though it made her a little anxious, kept her pace slow to accommodate for Miraak's weakened stride.

"Where are the guards?" Miraak murmured. He would have expected security to have a far stronger presence near his cell, had the evidence not suggested otherwise. Perhaps Vahlok assumed it impenetrable, though. After all, how far could one drugged prisoner get, even if he were to somehow escape his shackles and cage?

"The men that were guarding your cell are dead," she explained. "They didn't suspect I would end their lives…"

They reached the storage door, and she opened it quickly. The storeroom was dimly lit by two sconces on the walls that held faint, burning candles. She left Miraak to stand by the door and hurried to the far wall where extra armor sets not currently being used by the guards were left.

"I would have brought a set with me to your cell if I knew you were in such a condition," she explained. "Put it on. It'll serve as camouflage. With luck, and possibly skill, we won't have to draw blood."

He nodded agreement, leaning against the wall. She helped him into the armor, which took longer than she would have liked. It didn't help that along with his exhaustion, he still had persisting pains from his old wounds, but her healing magicka quickly chased them away. After they had accomplished outfitting him in the armor, which also included a guard's sword, they exited the room.

"Walk with a purpose. No one will know," she said softly. "If we come across anyone that we must talk to, let me speak...pretend you've drank too much mead or ale if necessary."

Again, he nodded assent.

As they walked, Miraak struggled to keep his steps even and straight, knowing that any lack of posture would alert other guards should they come across any.

He stumbled and braced his hands on the wall, barely preventing himself from falling. He cursed under his breath. After collecting himself, he matched stride with Zin and they made their way down the passage. The two entered a bridge above a large chamber. The room was lit by a huge flaming brazier in its center and a chandelier of burning sconces attached to its ceiling. The bridge that lead across passed above tables where several men and women sat, their masks off as they ate, speaking quietly and laughing every now and again. Apparently, it was a break room of sorts.

Zin never broke stride as they crossed the bridge to the next chamber, but her heart was beginning to pound with her nerves. She was glad that no one had said a word to them so far, though truthfully, there was no reason to. Guards patrolled the area quite often. Why should they call up to them? She forced herself to keep an easy stride, despite the fact that she was certain they were about to get caught at any moment. Luckily, it seemed the deaths of the cell's guards and Miraak's breakout were both still unknown.

They maneuvered down the hallway, and passed through a small room where two stationed guards nodded politely to them as they passed. Miraak nodded back, disbelieving that he was simply walking not but two paces away from the very people that wanted him bound and locked up, drugged and harmless. Still, he felt a stab of concern. It was getting harder to keep his stride from breaking. The pace he had to maintain was very exhausting.

When they entered the next empty passage, he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, halting. "A moment," he muttered, his vision swimming before his eyes.

"We can't stop," she breathed, feeling a stab of worry along with sympathy.

"I know that," he muttered back, pushing himself from the wall. Trying to control his labored breaths, he started his stride again, but his body was refusing to cooperate with him. With clenched teeth, he focused all of his thoughts and effort on walking. How hard could it be? It'd been hard to learn how to hone his dragonborn powers...and walking was feeling just as difficult now. But he had succeeded then, and he knew that if he forced his mind over the matter, he would succeed now.

Zin walked down the corridor, turning the corner. She did not break stride even as two other guards approached from the other side of it, heading in their direction. Miraak fell into step behind her, leaving room in the narrow passageway for the guards to pass them unhindered.

"Hey, guardswoman," one of the other guards said. He turned to look at them.

"What?" Zin asked, nearly jumping, frustration picking at her nerves.

"Are you lost?" He asked, facing her. "We're the only patrol for this path right now..."

"We're heading for the barracks to report to Commander Valdar." She responded without missing a beat.

"Where are you coming from?"

"The dining room," she said. "Now if you don't mind, we'll head on. Valdar will be rather displeased at our being held up like this."

Miraak realized he recognized this man. _Kreniik! What is he doing here, working for Vahlok!? Traitor!_ He felt rage bubbling up in himself. He was sorely torn between keeping silent, or calling the man out on his betrayal. _How dare he!_ However, he was going to have to wait. He had no magicka or weapon to fight his opponent with, and provoking a fight was not going to benefit him. He steamed silently, feeling his dragonblood boiling in anger.

"Who are you, guardswoman?" Kreniik asked. "I feel like I've heard your voice before."

"I'm the new guard that joined a few weeks ago," Zin said, her voice exaggerated in exasperation. "We're going now." She turned to leave.

It was a mistake.

Miraak, distracted with his anger, forgot that he currently had poor coordination and had to accommodate for such. He stumbled forward, feet tripping. He nearly collapsed, until Zin spun around and seized his shoulders. He bit his tongue to extinguish the line of angry speech threatening to spill from his lips. He met her widened eyes through the slits of their masks.

Zin looked past Miraak. The guards were staring at them with their faceless masks.

"What's wrong with him?" Demanded Kreniik.

"He had too much mead," Zin replied smoothly. "Come on," she said to Miraak.

"Is he so impaired?" Kreniik persisted. "Why not send him to the bunks? In fact, we could…"

She turned and began walking, and Miraak followed, fuming silently.

Unfortunately, Kreniik wasn't done.

He reached out and grabbed Miraak's shoulder. "Wait!" He exclaimed. "Goodness! What is so important, that you must return to Commander Valdar on the run?"

"Take your treacherous hand off of me!" Miraak snapped before he could stop himself.

The two men stared at each other. Kreniik stepped back quickly, yanking his hand away as though burned. _Wonderful,_ Miraak thought. It was just his luck that he had bumped into Kreniik, of all people, while trying to escape his father's prison. What could have been more ironic?

"I know that voice…" Kreniik whispered. "Lord Miraak? You're alive?" He asked, taking two more steps back.

"Indeed," Miraak snarled.

"Stay still," Zin commanded the guard, pulling ice to her fingers. She raised them, spears forming in her palms.

"He's supposed to be in his cell!" Snapped the other guard that was with Kreniik, drawing his sword. "Both of you, surrender immediately."

"Cell?" Kreniik said in disbelief. "He is a prisoner? _Our_ prisoner?"

"We have a break out!" The other guard continued, ignoring the question. He took a deep breath to shout, "H-"

A spear of ice imbedded in his throat between his armor. He choked, blood flowing from the wound. He reached his hands to it, gurgling as he collapsed to the ground, spasming in death.

Kreniik stared at his dying companion in fear, his sword untouched. "Dukaan," he exhaled in recognition, raising his eyes. "I...don't kill me," he begged, raising his hands submissively. "I won't say a word, I swear!"

"No," Miraak said, "You won't." He wished he could summon his fire, to punish this man's insubordination. "How dare you betray me and serve my enemies! Zin, kill this worthless man." He commanded.

"No, wait! I thought you were dead!" The man exclaimed, falling to his knees, wringing his hands together. "I swear it!"

"Only the most trusted of these guards knew of your imprisonment," Zin reminded Miraak. "I don't think he is lying… Vahlok even told _me_ you were dead, but I knew better."

"He still turned to the enemy."

"There was nowhere else!" Kreniik defended. "The peasants that took over were killing anyone who had any previous connections with the Dragon Order and hadn't helped them in their war! The other priests were killed or in hiding, but Vahlok was offering sanctuary to those the peasants were trying to slaughter… Please… I had no other choice, my lord!"

"I don't want to kill you," Zin said. "But I don't want to fail, either. You might go straight to Valdar when we leave. I cannot allow that." She raised her spear.

"I won't… I'm not even supposed to know Lord Miraak is alive!" He exclaimed. "Please," he begged. "I'm sorry, Lord Miraak… I should have known," he whispered, cowering on the floor.

For a moment, nothing happened.

"Fine, Kreniik." Miraak finally exhaled. "You may live. Betray me here, however, and you will face my full wrath in time," he added, turning to walk away.

There was a whistling noise, and an arrow zipped past his head. He whipped his gaze around to see Zin throw her ice spear. It smashed into the wall where the figure with a bow had retreated from, now somewhere behind the corner. Kreniik, still on the floor, stared at the archer in uncertainty.

"Surrender!" Called the archer. "They already know of your escape, Brother," she yelled.

"Sister," Miraak breathed, feeling fresh rage.

"Yes. Now don't force me to hurt you," Tovitaa said. "There's no way out of here. I just alerted the guards that I found your cell empty."

"We don't have time for this," Miraak directed at Zin. He spun and stumbled through the exit of the passageway. Zin threw another spear before following, missing again. It was more of warning than anything.

"If they know you've escaped, we'll have to take a short-cut," she said. "We won't come out of the temple in the most cover, but if we hurry, we can make it to the woods outside… If anyone says anything to us, don't respond!"

She was striding quickly, and Miraak staggered after her, cursing his weakened state. If he were only stronger, escaping would have been easy.

Zin hurried down a passage, pushing through some crates. She opened a hidden door, slipping inside, Miraak following. He heard another arrow thunk off the wall nearby. He wondered vaguely if his sister were missing on purpose; she was not a poor shot. He did not imagine her being willing to take his life or even injure him, however much Vahlok might have poisoned her against him. They had once been the closest of friends, when they were young, and he remembered that clearly now.

How much his perspective on life had changed, he observed.

Zin pushed through a pantry, which then led into a kitchen. They hurried past a few servants, and Miraak saw their gazes turn in surprise to look at the two apparent guards rushing through their work area, one of them stumbling like a drunk, and a third guard not far on their tail, holding her bow at the ready.

Zin opened the door to the wine cellar, and Miraak followed, sincerely hoping she knew where she was going. She had to, right? Why else had she spent so much time with the guards, planning this escape? By now, Miraak was gasping laboriously, barely able to keep his feet. His body ached from the strain he put it under; he wanted nothing more than to stop and rest but knew that would be the end of his flight. He kept pushing on, following Zin. No matter how troublesome it became, he had to keep going.

In the back of the cellar, between two barrels of alcohol, was a section of collapsed wall. It looked fairly new, as though it had been knocked down a few nights before. Had Zin done that? He didn't have the breath to ask her as they entered it, striding down a narrow passage. Finally, he saw sunlight ahead, and it was the best light he'd seen in a long time, even more welcoming than the green luminance that had been in his dreams. The sun was bright, too bright, but gloriously real.

Zin climbed up a small slope to the field, where the snow was thick. The sky was bright blue overhead. Miraak blundered up the snowy path, sucking in the icy air. They were outside, the temple behind them. He breathed deeply before exhaling. He was free!

"I've-" he started. An agonizing pain burst through his shoulder and he hit the ground, inhaling sharply.

Arrows were fired down from the wall of the temple, a shouting taken up from the alerted guards. Zin launched shards of ice back at them, wondering what the guards had been told about them. Were they intruders to them? Traitors? Or perhaps thieves? Were they to be taken alive, or put down? She didn't wonder for long though, becoming more concerned by the arrows aimed at them. If Miraak were in better condition, she could have ran for the trees, but now he was down. She wasn't even sure how severe the wound was, and she was too distracted to heal him. Besides that, in his condition, she knew he could not make it to the safety of the treeline quickly enough.

 _Where is…?_

A large fireball burst on the battlements, sending guards flying into the air. Her gaze swung around.

Ahzidal materialized from the distant trees, his staff raised before him. Beside him, Zahkriisos flung large bolts of lightning at the guards as well.

"Hold on," Called the fiery mage, lobbing more fireballs with ease. "I am coming to save you!"

Zin breathed a sigh of relief now that their enemies' arrows were drawn away from her and Miraak. She knelt beside him as he struggled to rise. "Hold still," she muttered. She grabbed the arrow, yanking it out and thanking whatever would listen in her head that it wasn't embedded too deep. Miraak hissed and then sighed at the reduction of discomfort when she enacted a healing spell upon the wound.

A roar filled the air, ringing from the temple. Their gazes turned to the sky where Riikathkrein and two other dragons were rising from the building, their wings beating the air to quickly gain height.

"Perfect, just when I cannot shout." Miraak muttered in sarcasm. "With those dragons at my command, our escape could have complete."

"It would have been useful," Zin agreed, helping him to his feet. "We have to get to the woods, the trees will disrupt their flight." He wobbled, his body trembling with each step. He couldn't manage much beyond a broken hobble.

Zin turned her gaze to the sky, knowing Miraak was nowhere near the condition he needed to be in to escape with haste. The dragons banked in the air overhead, swiftly closing the distance. Squinting against the bright sun, she could make out Riikathkrein overhead. She watched the emerald dovah raise into the sky, turning and plunging towards them. The other two swerved for Ahzidal and Zahkriisos.

"Curse this poison in my veins," Miraak snarled.

Zin flung her spears of ice at the dragon as it dropped. She landed one in its wing. The dragon twisted away, roaring in pain. It spun in the air, wheeling in a large circle, dropping towards them more slowly this time.

 _Why can't I do anything?_ Miraak thought angrily. _Why can't I help!?_ He would never forgive his own pitiful condition. Enraged, he grabbed the guard sword from his belt, unsheathing it. It was oddly unbalanced for his grip, but he was tired of being defenseless.

Riikathkrein landed before them both. The ground shuddered ominously. Zin shot more ice at the dovah, but most of the attacks shattered uselessly against his scarred-black scales, but a few found their mark. Miraak worked himself around the side of the dragon, lurching forward with his sword held before him. The dragon swung its head to look at him and lashed out with its wing, hitting Miraak in the midsection and knocking him off of his feet. He sat up slowly, winded, his body aching.

"Miraak, we have to get out of here!" Zin yelled. "Get up and get to the trees! I'll hold him off."

He knew that if they could kill the dragon, the soul would give him the strength to make a run for it, at the very least.

"If we kill it-" Miraak started.

"We can't!" She called back. "Not quickly enough. Now go!" She held a ward before her to block a jet of flames, launching more ice.

"I am not leaving you to this!" He argued.

She did not respond, too distracted with the fight.

Miraak could see that her magicka was getting weaker, her shards of ice shrinking in size. She did not have her enhancing robes on, and she had already used a fair amount of her power throwing ice at their enemies. He glanced back at the other mages, who were trading shouts and spells with the other two dragons. For the moment, they were holding their own. Turning his gaze back to the temple, he felt his heart sink with dread.

Vahlok strode forward, alone, as if he had ordered his people to stay back. He held his staff before him with a loose grip. Energy sizzled in the air around him, and he marched with purpose, his face turned towards the two before him. He treaded with ease until he stood beside the dragon, who snorted acknowledgement at his presence.

"I do not need your assistance, joor." The dovah rumbled. "They are too weak for my power."

"This is my duty," Vahlok shot back at Riikathkrein. He turned his attention to Zin. "I will say this only once," His voice rang clearly, power thrumming through his weapon. His face twisted under his hood into a scowl. "I will hold nothing back, and if you die, it will not be on my conscience. Surrender."

"I will not," Zin responded promptly.

"So be it."

Miraak saw her raised hands glow white. Then, she unleashed clouds of billowing ice while shouting, "FO KRAH DIIN!"

Vahlok's ward raised, but not fast enough to completely deflect the attack. It shattered, and he stumbled, catching himself quickly, ready to retaliate.

Riikathkrein shouted, "GAAN LAH HAS!"

Zin didn't have her ward ready either, and the weakening magicka flowed over her. She wavered, but stayed on her feet. Miraak knew she could not fight this fight alone. He glanced back to their other allies, but both Ahzidal and Zahkriisos were too preoccupied with their own fight with the dovah. Straightening himself, he pushed forward. He had to do something.

He found himself knocked off his feet by a burst of lightning from Vahlok's staff. He lay on his back, gasping desperately as he stared into the sky. It was so hard to keep moving, but he had to. He'd never let Zin face these enemies alone. Struggling, he felt like his limbs were weighted by steel. He saw Zin trading spells with Vahlok, who fought fiercely. Riikathkrein, on the other hand, did nothing but watch, seeming to think that any further help from him was unnecessary. He snorted, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils.

" _Mortals_ ," he scoffed.

Miraak shakily pushed himself to his knees, exhaustion burning in his muscles. He felt the cold snow under his hands, almost bitingly painful to him. He worked one of his feet under him, driving himself away from the ground that felt like it were pulling him down with excessively strong gravity. He straightened his stance with agonizing slowness, gasping at the air. Dragging his eyes up, a single thought crossed his mind.

 _Is this what it is to live without magicka? It is terrible._

He gasped, dizzy.

"This _rescue_ of yours is over," he hear Vahlok say.

Miraak saw Zin's magicka fail at the same moment. Silvery energy danced at Vahlok's fingertips. She stared at her opponent, trying to summon a magickal response. The mage readied his spell. Miraak swore that he heard the man inhale, but he could hear nothing else except his own pounding heart.

She was helpless.

His breath stopped in a panic. He moved. He pushed the last bit of energy he had into his limbs and lurched forward. The world seemed focused upon that moment. Adrenaline slowed it down, gave him a chance. He locked his gaze upon Zin, so close.

There was a sharp snap of magicka.

Miraak threw himself forward, acting as a shield to save a life. The force of the ice imbedding in his body sent him sprawling once again. His back hit the cold ground. He coughed, tasting blood.

"Miraak!" Zin yelled.

"You fool." Vahlok said. "You were in no condition to take such a hit!"

Miraak felt sharp torment crashing through his body. He fought for breath, suffocating from the heaviness spreading in waves through him. He could not move, feeling blood seeping through the metal of his stolen guard armor. Zin dropped to the ground by him, pulling his mask off his face, alleviating the smothering sensation he felt. She struggled to summon her magicka, but she could not manage a healing spell of the level that she needed to heal the wounds.

"Miraak," she repeated more softly.

Vahlok walked over to stand beside her, staring down at them, eyes narrowed. "Do you surrender, Dukaan?" He asked.

"If you heal him...then, yes," she said, her voice bitter.

"No," Miraak wheezed, anger finding his words. "I won't...go back...to that...cell… I'm not...drowning in...my own mind...again..."

If only he had something, a way to succeed - a chance to win, when there was only loss. He met Vahlok's gaze defiantly.

 _If only..._

The world seemed to shift. The air felt heavily tinged with magicka. Zin looked up, surprise passing across her face. She could feel the energies in the world changing, burning. Before her, she saw Vahlok flying back, as though he'd been struck. He hit the snow several feet away, moving quickly to rise again.

What had happened?

A darkness appeared in the sky, bleeding across it like ink spilled in the air. The darkness opened into a single eyeball, large and detached from the world. Tentacles unfurled by it, curling and uncurling in the black. The presence of the creature leaked into Mundus, tainting it with an unnatural aura. Miraak turned his gaze to it, surprise running through him.

"No!" Vahlok snarled, his eyes widening in alarm. "How is this possible…? It is the Daedra! Herma-Mora..."

"Vahlok…" Hermaeus Mora said softly to him. "Guardian, jailor… How you have failed so completely at everything you've tried to do... I am here...to free my champion from your control."

"No, demon!" Snarled Vahlok, raising his staff. "He is not yours! I will not allow your meddling again!"

"You should flee before me in terror." The eyeball narrowed threateningly.

Vahlok did not listen. "This is for the family you took from me!" He howled. He unleashed a spell.

It ended before it began. A tentacle speared through his midsection, lifting him into the air. He howled in pain, dropping his weapon, his magicka fading instantly.

Riikathkrein froze, eyes locked on the daedra. He seemed paralyzed, unable to move.

 _Is the dragon afraid?_ Zin wondered. She stared, astonished. "What are you doing here?" She demanded.

"I'm here to save my champion's life." The daedra replied simply in his clear, deep voice.

"Vahlok would have healed him," she pointed out, face twisting.

"Only to imprison him again," Mora replied calmly. "...I can save his life...if he were to return with me to Apocrypha." He added softly.

Zin looked at Miraak, and she could see the blood seeping from under the spears. He was far too weak to save himself, she knew. Her magicka was not enough, either. She didn't like it though. She had never trusted Mora, and the fact that he had just attacked the man that had been about to heal Miraak...instead of waiting until after he had done so - there was something off about it.

Why had he bothered to come to Nirn now, when he had never before? If he were going to anyway, then why hadn't he appeared sooner? Why didn't he kill the dragons fighting with Ahzidal and Zahkriisos so they could help instead?

She could not bring herself to voice her doubts. There were no other options if Miraak were to live...and she knew the daedra had meant for it to be that way.

She wasn't certain what to do.

"Then take me to Apocrypha," Miraak inhaled painfully, coughing. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and he winced, feeling it growing harder and harder to draw breath. "I'm no use dead, my mentor." he whispered, his throat dry.

"Wait," Zin said, pulling off her own mask. She leaned forward, kissing him gently. "Come back to us, Miraak," she murmured, smoothing his hair from his face. "I love you..." She felt that something was desperately wrong, and she could not stop the sudden fear that struck her.

"And I love you, Zin... My honor... I will be back soon." Miraak coughed again, struggling to gain his breath. His eyes switched to Hermaeus Mora. "I'm ready."

A single clawed hand uncurled from the darkness. It was gnarled, as though belonging to an ancient beast so old that it did not belong in the world anymore. The flesh was stretched, pale green and rough. Miraak knew he had no strength to seize the hand. Instead, it seized him, and the world faded to black.

Vahlok hit the ground, surprised to still draw breath. It was several minutes before he raised himself, observing the situation. He could see that the traitor was gone. Dukaan sat in the snow, staring into the distance with an unreadable expression on her face. He was confused as to why the daedra had just intervened in such a way.

He did know one thing for certain. Herma-Mora was right. He _had_ failed. He had failed in every way possible.

He'd failed as a guardian, as a jailor...and as a father.

Miraak had escaped...and he would be back to bring more of Herma-Mora's chaos, without a doubt.

"Call them off," he told Riikathkrein, motioning to the dragons battling with Zahkriisos and Ahzidal. "There's no reason to fight here any longer."

He walked back towards the temple, experiencing feelings that were dark and tumultuous.

* * *

.

* * *

 ** _Dovahzul Translations -_**

 _Joor - Mortal (You probably knew that one already, though. XD)_


	29. Sorrow, Death, and Memories

~D~

XXIX. Sorrow, Death, and Memories

(Krosis, Dinok, ahrk Vahrukt)

Vahlok placed the mask gently upon the altar, the two broken pieces of it side by side. He remembered how the slice down the middle had been caused by the traitor's sword, a swing that had nearly killed him. _If only it had done its job. For all the difference I have made..._ He exhaled, the sound of exhaustion and sorrow, staring into the mask's empty eyeholes. He lowered his gaze, silently cursing all that had happened. He was not alone in his misery, for the heavens seemed to match his disposition. Cold, gray clouds coated the sky, spitting a somber and rare rain on that day in Solstheim. The snowy land below accepted the rain, gently soaking it up through the snow.

Nearby, the green dragon sat, unusually quiet and thoughtful. He exhaled. "The foul magicka corrupted our land, Vahlok." He paused and inhaled deeply, creating the sound of rushing air filling a great space. "It corrupted the dovah, muz, and all. Krosis ahrk vahrukt. The heavens weep this day on the anniversary of the vanishing of Thuri Alduin, the Destroyer."

Riikathkrein appeared far different now, the toll of that fateful fight having been recorded upon him. The healed scales upon his face were blackened and deep scars lined his body in places where the enemy dragons' claws had gouged his scales. One of his horns was broken right at the tip, and he had a hole in his wing. Vahlok had never thought of dragons as being able to look old, but if they could, then this one certainly did.

The mage returned in a somber tone, "And I have failed to contain this foul taint further. A year has nearly passed...when will the traitor return? I will not rest until I have ensured the land will remain free of his master's dark influence."

"Perhaps he will ni daal...not return," responded the dragon, curling his tail behind him. He shifted slightly, turning his eyes to the clouds above in thought. "He was beaten last time...he may simply hide...the sense of survival is strong in mortals."

"No, he's too prideful. If he's holding back, it's because he is gathering strength. I know he will be back...or Herma-Mora would not have a use for him..."

Shaking accumulated water off his wings, the dragon rumbled, "Then perhaps his master has tired of him, ahrk lost krii mok." Riikathkrein suggested that he was killed.

"Perhaps," Vahlok said. He turned to the dovah. "That would be a terrible but fitting end to this madness, would it not?"

Before the dragon could respond, he heard someone approaching. He curiously looked to see who had decided to join them. It was a woman, and she had her eyes locked upon the dragon and man as she approached, her stride unhurried, unhappy. "Riikathkrein. Father…" She murmured when she reached them.

"Tovitaa," he greeted.

The dragon rumbled a welcome.

"Are you alright?" she asked her father. "You've been out here for some time."

"I...I have grown weary." He leaned his hands upon the altar, heaving a sigh.

"What are you thinking of?" She had a feeling she knew the answer. It was all he ever thought of anymore.

"The Dragon Order. Alduin. That Daedra... And Miraak…" He responded. "I keep wondering if there was something I could have done differently. I cannot believe how quickly it all fell apart."

"I..." she trailed off. "Don't know. So much happened so quickly...and Miraak lied to us...I thought... I believed him. Truly, I believed it when he said he followed no daedra."

"Tovitaa, do not fault yourself for believing him. You could not have guessed he would use the bonds of family to manipulate you. He was a traitor completely...and a heartless man."

"I'd rather remember the headstrong boy that was my brother..." she whispered.

"Mortals are strange," Riikathkrein muttered. He flapped his wings and took to the air.

"Maybe, though," Tovitaa said as the dragon circled away. "Maybe it's not so bad that the Dragon Order has fallen. I-"

Vahlok turned his eyes to her sharply, anger in his voice, "What? How could you say that? The land has fallen into chaos, and so many lives have been lost..." His rage drained away almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"There were many deaths under the Dragon Order _before_ the war," she reminded him in a reasoning tone. "Now, maybe there won't be. The dragons wanted slaughter for their own amusement. Yes, the revolution brought death and chaos, but it's starting to settle down now. Nothing is gained without sacrifice," she added.

"Have I not sacrificed nearly everything I had?" Vahlok said in a harsh tone. "I still have nothing to show for it...but perhaps you are right. The Dragon Order was monstrous... I tried to do what I could without unnecessary pain and death, but I accomplished little in my time. Perhaps Miraak was right, however much he was controlled by that evil daedra - chaos begets order, and order begets chaos; the war was inevitable. If so, it brings me no peace of mind. Nothing will."

He moved away from the altar and started back towards the temple. His daughter followed, scowling.

"Father," she said, her tone insistent. "You did your duty. What's done is done. Stop feeling this way. It's not good for you."

"I will be fine, Tovitaa... We must think of the future, not the past. Our work is not done. Now we have a new duty. To watch. If Miraak should return, I will stop him. Everyone in this temple must work together against that man. Not only is this personal, but necessary. We must prevent the further spread of Herma-Mora's influence."

"He is with a daedra. I will do what is required," she responded, her voice growing cold.

"We will wait for as long as needed."

Just then, Commander Valdar walked into the courtyard. His eyes were troubled and uneasy. He was not wearing his usual mask. Instead, he had a helmet tucked under his left arm. He hurried to Vahlok, right hand on his sword hilt. With some effort, he dropped it to his side.

"Vahlok, I apologize for the interruption," he said quickly. His gaze flitted to Tovitaa. "I didn't know you were busy."

"It's fine, Valdar," Vahlok said, impatience entering his voice. "What is the matter?"

"I just received a report," Valdar answered uneasily. "Hevnoraak makes his way to the temple. I do not like to think of his intentions."

Vahlok exhaled wearily and rubbed his eyes. "What does he want? It has been a year, and Miraak is gone. He must be unaware... Fine, let us go and meet him." He looked at his daughter, and she could see the exhausted look on his face. "Tovitaa-"

"I wish to come," she interjected. She met her father's gaze, eyes determined.

"No."

"I will not run from this," she snapped. "I have seen the monster for what he is, and if he is here for less than reasonable intentions, I will put in an arrow in his black heart."

"This is not something you need to be apart of."

"It is!" She glared. "The people of this temple must work together! That won't happen if you try to hide me from danger! If I cannot face Hevnoraak, then I cannot face Miraak, if it becomes necessary."

They stared at each other stubbornly.

"Very well," Vahlok relented after a few moments. "I will not argue with you. I know you are not helpless. Keep in mind that we are not going to start a fight with him. If there is blood, it will be because he attacks first."

"I know," she said.

The trio entered the temple together, beginning to prepare for their less-than-welcome visitor.

* * *

The horse stomped up the pathway, warm puffs of air blowing from its nostrils and spit collecting on its mouth from the bit. Sweat and rain soaked its body. The steed breathed laboriously, as though it had spent the better part of an hour galloping. The man guided it with sharp tugs of the reins and quick taps of his heel, silent as a corpse. As he rode, the building morphed into view around a bend of trees, resting quietly in the snow. He halted and dismounted with ease. Without bothering further with his steed, he made his way towards the temple, never looking back.

 _Vahlok's temple._ He thought. _No._ _Tomb. It is the old fool's tomb._

Outside, the wall was lined with guardsmen. He could make out three shapes before the entrance, still and waiting.

He recognized Vahlok immediately, maskless, helpless. Next to him stood a woman he did not know, though he noted that she had a bow over her shoulder, a potential threat. The man on Vahlok's other side was dressed similarly to one of the many guards of the temple, but more elaborately. A ram-horn helmet completed his steel and fur armor, and gold marked his outfit in detailed patterns.

"Vahlok," the dark-robed visitor whispered, stopping several paces away.

"Hevnoraak," responded the other.

Hevnoraak's one-eyed gaze flashed coldly. "I will not be denied this time," he said, his voice like ice.

"Denied?" Vahlok tensed, his hold on his staff tightening. Abruptly, he winced, his grip loosening, and started coughing. When he had stopped, his breathing was more shallow and labored.

Valdar's hand landed on his sword, waiting and ready for trouble.

Tovitaa felt a stab of worry as she looked at her father. The last year had not been kind to this man, and without his enhancing mask, he seemed far older than he was.

Hevnoraak's pale face was devoid of any indication of his thoughts as he peered at them. He spoke steadily, voice quiet. "I was denied my vengeance...and now look at you Vahlok. Time is no longer your ally. Your mask is gone, and with it, your strength. You cannot fight me, so do not resist. Step aside, guardian. I shall do what I wish to."

"I can fight just well, Hevnoraak. I don't see _you_ growing any younger, either."

Hevnoraak hissed a little.

Grimacing under his helmet, Commander Valdar stated, "You seem unaware that Miraak is gone. Is this not why you are here? Now you know that you have no reason to linger. Leave."

Hevnoraak finally showed surprise. "You killed him?"

The three tensed uneasily.

"I did not," Vahlok murmured. He closed his eyes, already regretting what he had said. He should have lied to the vicious, unreasonable priest. What did it matter whether he was honest or not?

"What do you mean?!" Hevnoraak stepped closer. "Do not tell me that you let him go free!"

"I did not do that either," Vahlok said. "His daedric master claimed him...whether he is alive or not, I am unsure."

Hevnoraak snarled, "and now he is saved. Because you were soft like a baby! You couldn't finish your job, and now he is free! I will track him down, t-"

"I've already been doing that," Vahlok interrupted the impending tirade. "All evidence points that he is no longer in this world. It is very likely he has gone to his master's world...somewhere in Oblivion. Even his former allies seem to not know his whereabouts. They've taken to their own tasks."

"I see..." Hevnoraak said, gaze switching amongst them. "They must be pleased to have destroyed the Dragon Order so completely. All the high priests are dead, save for you and me, Vahlok."

Tovitaa was so astounded, she finally broke her silence. "All of them?"

"Yes. They're all quite dead." Hevnoraak raised his hand, counting off on his fingers slowly. There was a cold triumph in his voice as if he were pleased to have outlasted them. "Konahrik, Volsung, Morokei, Otar, Nahkriin, Rahgot, Vokun...and so many others have fallen." He paced forward until he was merely steps away. "And Krosis... We shouldn't forget his battle for the Speartips...shall we?" He gave a dark and cold laugh. "They say his dragon companion protected him to the last, and he was honored with a simultaneous funeral."

"It's all gone," Vahlok agreed. "Everything the Order was, is gone. Even Alduin. The dovah are falling apart without his leadership."

"They've gone rogue, hunted individually like foxes," Hevnoraak said. "To think, we once recognized them as worthy to lord over us."

Vahlok clenched his teeth. "To think, you were ready to torture and murder the one who started it all because of that very idea!" He couldn't stop that sentence from breaking forth.

Hevnoraak narrowed his good eye. "Perhaps that is what started it...but things have changed. He serves a daedra... And bad blood lingers beyond motivations. I do not forgive or forget…." He lowered his voice further. "You of all people should know that, Vahlok."

"We cannot help you," Vahlok said. "Now leave."

"Ah, and after I traveled all this way?" The man's voice became even more menacing, if possible. "No, my dear Vahlok, you can help me, you just don't realize it yet." His eye glinted, and Vahlok realized this man had come for blood. He wasn't leaving until he had gained it.

Vahlok's tone became a warning. "Hevnoraak..."

The sadistic man said, "I think the screams of you and your servants will take the place of my vengeance; you will repay me my loss." Hevnoraak raised his staff. His eye flicked over them, locking with Vahlok's.

"Not a chance in Oblivion," Valdar growled, drawing his sword.

"As you wish." Hevnoraak's staff crackled with energy.

Valdar sprang into an attack, his blade lashing out. It glanced off the staff, and Hevnoraak sent him flying back with a burst of dark power. The commander hit the snow, sliding back. Icy air swirled around Hevnoraak, and he unleashed more magicka, now aimed at his next enemy. Fortunately, Vahlok already held his ward up, and the majicka evaporated harmlessly upon meeting it. The guardian unleashed lightning that struck his nemesis.

Hevnoraak's feet tripped and he backed up, hissing. "You should've let me have your son, and then you might have lived past this day, guardian!"

"I would never give you anything of value," Vahlok retorted. "Except death."

"I will never die," laughed Hevnoraak. "FO KRAH DIIN!" He shouted. The icy air flowed over Vahlok, who gasped.

Abruptly, Hevnoraak's shoulder sported an arrow that had been launched from Tovitaa's bow. He growled and cursed, staggering from the force of the impact. His staff glowed white. He spun towards the target he'd momentarily forgotten to watch for, but she was already moving, and more arrows were being fired from the walls from Vahlok's guards, distracting him. He launched an icy wave of magicka at the wall that held the archers.

"Call for reinforcements!" One of the guards yelled.

With a snarl, Valdar closed with his foe, blade swinging. Hevnoraak deflected it, turning his weapon and throwing the man to the ground with a bolt of dark magicka. The commander lay still, shivering in pain. However, before the enemy could deal a finishing blow upon him, Vahlok unleashed a gout of fire, but Hevnoraak swept it away with a ward. He moved in as fast as a serpent, an ice spear in his hand. Vahlok lashed out with his own staff, and Hevnoraak's eye narrowed, cunning. He shifted in response, dodging. He lunged under the attack, driving the spear of ice into Vahlok's chest. The guardian cried out in pain.

"No one will defy me!" Hevnoraak growled, face full of rage as he stared into Vahlok's eyes. He twisted the spear for more effect and was rewarded with another howl.

"Father!" Tovitaa shouted, preparing another arrow.

She was about to unleash it when Riikathkrein plunged out of the sky. His claws closed upon Hevnoraak, seizing him. With a harsh movement, he flung the sadist away. He landed several paces from Tovitaa, turning towards the foe, smoke spilling from his maw as he prepared his fire.

Tovitaa dropped her arrow and rushed to Vahlok's side. Blood ran in rivulets down his chest and he sank to the ground, panting. She knelt beside him. She struggled to think of how to help, but didn't know what she could do. She had never been a healer. She knew how to make healing potions, but she had no ingredients. Even if she did, there would have been no time to make one, and Vahlok was too weak to save himself.

Hevnoraak retreated from the dragon and abandoned the fight. He rushed to his mount, jumping into the saddle and spurring the steed into a run. They vanished into the woods, kicking up wet snow in their wake. Tovitaa heard the horse thundering away. She fastened her eyes upon the dragon.

Riikathkrein howled after Hevnoraak, roaring fiercely. "Now the joor muz kill themselves!" He snarled, looking to Vahlok. "Meyus sonaakke!"

"He's not dead, Riikathkrein," Tovitaa countered hopelessly.

"It is merely a matter of time now," the dragon returned callously.

"Can't you heal him...or do something?" Tears filled her eyes.

"Vahraana los ni dovah lah." Riikathkrein said negatively. "I do not know how to heal an injury. Volunduv wah dovah. It is not in our nature to heal our wounds."

Tovitaa looked down at her father, face full of sorrow.

Vahlok's gaze locked on hers. He gasped weakly, "Tovitaa...I regret...the way...our family fell apart. I...am...sorry..." He winced. "It was...I...who pushed...your mother...away..." He coughed, blood running from his mouth. "I gave Miraak...the ring..."

"It's alright," She said, trying to comfort him. "What happened wasn't your fault.

"It was..." Vahlok's gaze was losing focus. "...the ring...led...him...to...Herma-Mora... Didn't...know..." his voice was fading. He closed his eyes. "Forgive...me..."

"Don't worry," Tovitaa said, the tears sliding down her face. "I forgive you, even if there is nothing that needs forgiven."

He exhaled one last time. Slowly, she placed his hands upon his chest and began weeping in grief, crying openly with pain and sorrow.

Valdar stepped up to stand beside her. He winced in pain, his face twisted in rage. "I'm taking some men. We're going to kill Hevnoraak. If ever the land needed a death, it was his. He is an evil monster."

"I grow weary of death," responded Tovitaa, trying to steady herself.

"It must be done." He turned and hurried away.

Tovitaa was dimly aware of the sounds of horses riding out not long after.

She spoke her thoughts out loud, "They will remember you, Father. They will remember a hero. You don't believe you did what was right, but you did. In your honor, I sow my fate." She wiped her tears away and stood. "In your honor, I will watch for the traitor's return...if...if he should. Not out of anger, or vengeance, but for justice. We will stand as the guardians. Our family will pay for its mistakes, won't it?"

Riikathkrein made a noise of impatience. "With my obligation to Vahlok gone, I am a loner now, joor. I go my own way." He leapt into the air, wings pushing himself aloft.

Tovitaa said nothing as she watched him leave. She pivoted on her heel and hurried for the stables with quick strides. There was a young man in there, tending to a horse. He looked up, anxious curiosity on his face.

"You there," Tovitaa said. "Go and take my father's body indoors. I do not want the wolves feasting on it tonight. Have those that remain prepare for a funeral."

He nodded, eyes wide.

She hurried over to a prepared horse and mounted it. She urged it from the stables, and soon, she was galloping down the road in hot pursuit of the others, anger burning in her veins. She would make Hevnoraak pay for the death of her father.

* * *

Hevnoraak hissed, his gaze whipping around. One of his guards fell dead at his feet, an arrow jutting from his neck. More of his men dropped to the invisible attacker, and he realized they were all weaklings. He looked up to the ceiling and the walls, but he could make nothing out. His ever so present darkness had finally turned on him; it concealed the enemy. Warily, he gripped his staff, summoning his power, but he was old and pathetic now. It was blindingly obvious to him that he wasn't in a condition to fight. Not after the preparations he'd made. Pain burned from the wound in his shoulder, for he'd not been given even a moment to heal it.

He looked on carefully, trying to pinpoint his enemy.

With a loud noise, a group of armored warriors charged into the room, howling like crazed animals. He summoned his magicka, and a sweeping arc of electricity jumped from his staff towards them. One of the fighters, a mage, raised a ward with speed. The lightning met it, failing upon the wall of magicka. The men swarmed him. Blades and magicka lashed out at him. The darkness was broken up with the sporadic lights from enemy spells. He spun this way and that, his one eye wild and large, trying to retaliate against the writhing mass of hatred around him.

Tovitaa settled into her spot in the corner. She raised her bow, arrow in hand, pulling back the string.

 _For you, Father._

Her arrow flew forward and struck Hevnoraak in the chest. It caused a lull in the sadist's attacks, and Valdar took the opportunity to make his move. He charged, his blade sinking into his foe's torso. Valdar met the venomous gaze, feeling blood dripping over his hands, hearing the intake of a pained breath. He bared his teeth, pushing, burying his weapon right up to the hilt in Hevnoraak's body.

"I am Commander Valdar," he snarled. "Know who dealt the final blow. Know that you have been defeated by a guardsman!"

"Or a...pack of them," Hevnoraak spat. His malicious eye bore into Valdar. He coughed, slumping back against an altar. Dark blood spilled down his robes. "You...believe...this is the end?" He hissed. "No...I will be back... Valdar. You have succeeded in _nothing_!"

Tovitaa ran to Valdar's side, her gaze on the dying man. "You will finally die, you monster!" She snapped. "This is for my father, the guardian."

Hevnoraak chuckled slightly. The odd noise turned into a coughing fit, a strangled sound. He exhaled in death and moved no more. The remaining warriors gathered around cautiously, their weapons at the ready. When they saw the man was dead, they sheathed their swords, sighing in relief.

"I need a drink." A man said.

"How could you say that now, Kreniik!?"

"What, Nina? You are doing this again? Why don't you ever stop?"

"ME? I'm the one who saved your ass! That spell would have turned you inside out!"

"Whatever you say." Came the doubtful response.

Valdar moved to examine something. After a moment, he frowned and changed directions, his eyes raking over various objects as he traversed the chamber. The guards turned their attention to him, curious to what he was doing. When they could discern nothing obvious, they began to mutter, exchanging quiet theories amongst themselves.

Tovitaa stepped forward, about to approach him, when their commander turned to face them. "Wait here." He ordered and hurried away into the darkness.

They did as told. Toviaa began to feel uncertain. A while later, Valdar returned. "There is a problem." He announced, face unreadable.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Hevnoraak was not at his full power. He was getting old, and he drained most of his own blood so that he may resurrect himself in the future. A spell, to grant himself immortal power, carried out by his servants. He simply wanted to try once more for his vengeance before succumbing to death."

"He will rise again?" Tovitaa asked, disbelief in her voice. "How?"

"As an undead. I've seen the ritual...it is similar to the magicka the Destroyer Alduin could use to bring his servants back to life, but not quiet the same. He will succeed...unless..." Valdar shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Unless one were to...stop it." He finished.

"How?"

"None of us would be strong enough to take out his lich, but one of us can hold back his will if bounded with it. If he succeeds... Imagine a being as powerful as a young Hevnoraak."

"That sounds...terrible," Tovitaa said, frowning.

"Yes, which is why someone must remain in the crypt..." He paused, inhaling. "I will stay behind."

The members of the group looked at each other uneasily.

"Valdar, you can't do that," Tovitaa said.

"I must, Tovitaa."

"I could do it. He killed m-"

He cut her off. "No, you cannot. You have another duty, remember? To watch for Miraak, to stop him should he return. Mine will be to hold Hevnoraak back. It is not something I look forward to," he said, "but we cannot allow evil to take root in our world, if it is within our power to stop it. If Hevnoraak returns, he will become an unstoppable tyrant!"

"But..." Tovitaa could think of no response. "You will give up your life here!"

"I know...but it's what I need to do."

"How is this even going to work?" She asked.

"With my will bound to Hevnoraak's, I can prevent his spell from activating and raising him."

"I... I understand." She looked away. After a moment, she whispered, "Farewell, Valdar."

"Farewell." He turned his gaze and called to the two mages in their group. "Guards Iisk and Nina, I require your help with the binding ritual. I believe it should not be too hard to accomplish."

Somberly, the two mentioned guards followed their commander away from the chamber.

Tovitaa turned to the others. "Come on. When Iisk and Nina return," she said, "We will return to my father's temple, and watch for the traitor's return."

As she walked out of the tomb, she felt misery in her heart. She did not feel as if they had accomplished much. She wanted to weep, for Valdar, for her mother, for her father, and even for her brother Miraak. Regardless of her losses though, she knew that there was hope. She remembered how passionately her brother had spoken of destroying the Dragon Oder, of getting rid of the pointless worshipping and sacrifices. That had been accomplished.

Perhaps the future would be a better place.

She smiled sadly, wiping her eyes as she remembering her family. She could recall her brother playing with her when they were children. They could come up with numerous games in the constant snow of Skyrim. As they had grown older, they would hunt and practice various combat skills together.

She decided she would remember him as he was before he had left their family...as the man who was unburdened, who had grand dreams of becoming the best of all the dragon priests.

Tovitaa did not know that she would never see Miraak again.

* * *

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **End of Part One.**_

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Muz - Men  
Krosis ahrk vahrukt. - Sorrow and memory.  
Ni daal. - Not return.  
_ _ahrk lost krii mok - and has kill(ed) him  
Joor muz. - Mortal men._  
 _Meyus Sonaakke! - Foolish Priests!  
Vahraana los ni dovah lah - To heal is not dragon magick._  
 _Volunduv wah dovah - Unnatural to dragons_

* * *

 _ **A/N** _ \- _Here's the final chapter of part one. Next chapter will begin part two. Once again, I want to remind readers that there will be some AU elements. I don't wish to give too much information away, though, so I won't be saying what exactly is AU about it. I will merely say that part two shall cover the gap between this time period and the 'current' one in-game._

 _Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	30. Legacy - A Cruel Master

~D~

 _Opening of Part Two: Legacy_

 _(Zoortah)_

The village of the tribesmen was nestled in the woods, tucked safely within the frozen trees. Amongst the modest and simple houses, men and women clothed from head to toe in heavy animal pelts carried out their various duties. The hunters were returning from the morning hunt, hoisting their catch over their shoulders. The blacksmith worked at his forge, a sturdy piece of metal glowing orange under his hammer. The alchemist held a bag in her hands, making preparations to adventure out and collect ingredients. Children rushed through the areas between the houses, playing and laughing gleefully.

All was peaceful, save for the occasional, mundane problems that sometimes arose, but they were easily solved. Such day-to-day challenges were only to be expected.

No one expected the dragon.

Its vicious roar broke across the sky, the powerful sound thundering through the trees. Flocks of fearful birds lifted from the forest, their wings beating fiercely in an attempt to escape the approaching danger. The hunters froze, their gazes turning to the sky. They dropped their haul to hurry to and fro, seizing weapons of different degree. Bows, iron swords, axes, and even shovels were grabbed. Unfortunately, most of the tribesmen were hardly warriors. Still, they readied themselves the best they could while those who were less than capable of battle were rushed to the only semblance of safety they could find - the stone cellars.

Bursting out of a door, Zin shouted over her shoulder and into the house. "Take refuge in the shelter!"

Behind her, a young boy rushed out the door, his face fearful but determined. "I want to help, Mother!" He argued.

"No," she replied sternly. "Go to the cellar!" The boy was about to protest when she said in a firm tone, " _Now,_ Zoortah. I don't have time to argue."

A shadow passed over the village, and a great howl announced the arrival of the wyrm. Twisting around, Zin allowed ice spears to spring to her hands. She watched the beast fly overhead, the weight of it speeding through the air causing the ground to tremble underfoot. The dragon banked and unleashed a wave of fire that would have ignited the town had most of its houses not been enchanted to withstand fire. Unfortunately, some of the fighters were caught in its path, and they screamed in pain as they were consumed by greedy flames. Arrows were returned against the monstrous creature, the projectiles bouncing off of its scales. Some, luckily, found their mark and landed firmly between the plates of its natural armor.

The dragon was hardly deterred. It lowered in the air to unleash more of its deadly element upon the enemy below, and Zin launched her spell, feeling success run through her as the ice imbedded in its thick neck. The dragon howled in pain, beating its wings to gain height again. Zin launched more of her magicka after it, watching the dovah dodge her attacks, having the advantage of distance. The beast circled overhead, clearly realizing that the mortal village below was not as easy of prey as it'd originally thought.

 _It is good that the measure we've taken have proven mostly successful, so far,_ Zin thought, trying to get into a position that would allow her to land a deadly hit upon the dragon.

To her surprise, the dovah moved into a dive, plunging for the village where a group of men and women stood holding various weapons. When it landed, the dragon crushed two screaming villagers under its massive claws, though suffered several arrows imbedding in its flesh in return. It lashed at the fighters, sending several sprawling with a whip of its tail.

"Hi dir fah gruth, joorre!" The dragon declared, saying that he would punish them for turning on the dragons. It eyed them for a moment before opening its jaws to unleash more fire.

"NO!" Screamed a voice next to Zin.

She saw the boy charging forward, surprised that she hadn't realized he was beside her. She yelled, " _Zoortah!_ " Without thinking, she rushed after him.

The dragon turned towards them both, looking straight at the mortal child sprinting at it. The boy held a small dagger in his hand, which he raised over his head to grip in his fists. His small voice screamed a challenge, scared and desperate. He was running far too fast, Zin thought, fear grabbing her as her son charged into danger. The dragon rumbled, almost as if it were chuckling, and then opened its jaws.

Zin never had the chance to react.

The teeth-filled maw descended towards the boy to devour him in one easy bite.

Zoortah inhaled deeply. He shouted, "FO!"

A small wave of ice coated the dragon's face. It flinched, though, as if the full force of a wild blizzard had lashed it. The beast leapt back several steps, its claws gouging into the snow-laden ground. The dragon stared at the boy, and he, in turn, simply stared back. The scaled monster inhaled deeply, sniffing at the air.

The dragon froze and exclaimed, "Dovah sos!? Nii nis kos! Dovahkiin ni dilon!" It stared at the boy, eyes wide. With a mighty sweep of its large wings, it propelled itself into the sky, speeding away as quickly as it had come.

Zin reached the boy, dropping to her knees beside him and drawing him into an embrace. "Zoortah... Why didn't you listen to me?!" She demanded.

The boy stared into her eyes. He was very pale. "What happened?" he whispered, obviously having not heard her question.

Zin rubbed her brow, uncertain what to do for a moment. _He shouted, without the thu'um._ _I would never have thought that Miraak's abilities would pass on to our child. What the dragon said... Dovahkiin. The second dragonborn to live._ _Why? The Dragon Order is gone. Why is there another dragonborn? Does this mean the dragons will retaliate?_

She could feel the questions bubbling up in her, and she was just as confused as her son. Then, her uncertainty vanished. She felt realization hit her. _The dragonborn was meant to destroy Alduin, and lead the people of the land out of chaos. Neither was accomplished by Miraak. Perhaps now that he is gone, his destiny has fallen to Zoortah?_

"What happened to me, Mother?" He asked again, trembling slightly.

"Walk with me," she commanded, standing and taking his hand. She cast a quick glance around, seeing that the villagers were mostly occupied with tending to their wounds and the dead, but they kept casting suspicious looks in her son's direction. Feeling a faint jolt of nervousness, she guided her son away from the village, making for the trees in which they would be able to converse without being heard.

For several minutes, they walked silently through the woods, and Zin knew this would allow the boy time to calm down after the fight. When Zin felt she had put enough distance between them and the village, she stopped and turned to her son.

"What happened?" He asked immediately for the third time.

She knelt before him, so that they were eye-to-eye. She smiled, placing her hand on his cheek. "Listen to me, Zoortah," she whispered. "There are times, when the gods give us opportunities," she said. "Those opportunities allow us to do great things, if we wish."

"The gods? Like Kyne?"

"Yes..."

"What did I _do_ , though?" he asked, bemused.

"You spoke the dragon language, Zoortah." She explained. "The thu'um is what it's called... It is very powerful. Some can use this power with ease. The gods have given you that ability." She dropped her hand, looking down for a moment and exhaling wearily.

 _I will not call him dragonborn,_ she thought. _He does not need to know...not yet. There will be time for that later._

"That is the dragon language?" He asked, his voice awed.

"Yes. I can speak it too." _He must have heard me use it before...but the last time I used it was when I was pregnant. Could he...?_

"You can?" He queried. "Why didn't you speak it at that bad dragon then, and make it go away?"

"I..." she started and trailed off. After a deep breath, she said, "Because of the villagers..." Silently, she thought, _If nothing else, he needs to know this much._

"What about them?" He asked, confused again.

"They do not look kindly upon the thu'um. Few do..."

"But..." he looked crestfallen. "Then they won't like me anymore? Why?"

"They are scared of the bad dragons, and everything that is related to them, including their language." She sighed. "They think it evil. They don't realize it is a gift. You must understand, Zoortah. Some of them fought a great battle against the beasts several years ago. Their memory of the fight is fresh in their minds. They are afraid to lose their hard-won peace, when they lost so many of their loved ones and families."

"Is that why I don't have a father?" He asked.

"What?" she returned, taken aback.

"I know I don't have one. Most of the other kids in the village have papas. Did he die? By mean dragons that kill people? Did he fight against them?"

She hesitated before responded the questions. "He did fight dragons...but...they didn't kill him," she said, voice quiet. "He...is gone... I don't know what happened to him," she admitted.

"What do you mean?"

Zin looked down, closing her eyes. "He disappeared. I have not seen him since... Now, enough of this, we shouldn't linger here."

"Are we going back to the village?" He asked.

"No," she returned. _I fear what they will do._ "We will leave. I have former allies who may be willing to help. I think it's time that we give more thought to the future, my son. _Our_ future."

He grinned abruptly, "When I grow up, I am going to fight dragons! I'll use their words to make them go away! They won't kill anymore people!" he declared. "I will use their language to do great things!"

Zin exhaled sharply, "Zoortah, we must face one challenge at a time."

 _Already, he is like Miraak,_ she thought. _I can only guess at Hermaeus Mora's actions... I dare not read my black book again... If there is even a small chance that the daedra does not know about Zoortah yet... But what if I could use it to...? No, Miraak must be dead, betrayed by the one he served, or he would have returned by now. We will carry on his legacy._ _I wanted to give Zoortah a chance to grow, but now we must start._ _I must not quit now. Not after everything we fought for._

 _Thank you, Miraak, for believing in me... I will always fight for a better world._

* * *

 _._

* * *

That World Will Cease to Be

(Tol Lein Fent Dir)

* * *

XXX. A Cruel Master

(Aan Munax In)

Dark green light dominated the atmosphere. The shadows seemed to pulse every now and then, almost trembling from some unseen magicka in its depths. The shadowy darkness was disturbed by thousands of unseen anomalies, all brushing together and flitting thoughtlessly about. The air was thick and heavy, loaded with an infinite amount of knowledge mixed with desire that twisted in and out of itself. In the world of Apocrypha, this black, weighted atmosphere would always be.

Miraak's eyes blinked open. He was suspended again, seemingly in the depths of a dull, emerald ocean. Turning his head, he could see that cold, biting light far above him. It was a very familiar sensation, being deep in the green darkness. The alluring promise of freedom dangled over his head, daring him to try and reach it, only to eventually fail. He knew this cruel game all too well. It was that dream... _again_ , he realized. _I thought...I was done with dreams._

Still, he felt an uneasy thought trying to drift into his mind. It was as if a black doubt was trying to slither into his consciousness, to tear his concentration apart and distract him. He could not pinpoint what it was, no matter how hard he tried to focus upon it. It slipped from his grasp, and with that feeling of anxiety it brought, he chose to ignore it for the time being.

What did it matter? When he awoke, he'd be shackled and powerless again in Vahlok's cage. He had truly believed that the suffering of his imprisonment was over. He closed his eyes, wanting that freedom so desperately, that it nearly made him cringe at the thought of waking up.

Since when had he thought so clearly in a dream? And why did it feel as if he were missing an important detail somewhere? Had he...?

Uncertainly, he concentrated on the clouded feeling of this world - whispers of a thousand voices, thoughts of those gone or still breathing, emotions that piled into completely incomprehensible noises. It was always unfamiliar, but familiar, too. He relaxed himself, barring his own sensations from his mind. He did not want to confront his discomforts now.

 _"Miraak..."_ That all-too-familiar voice sounded distant, far away, yet somehow, it echoed from below and around him, resonating through the murkiness, steady and calm.

He knew that he could not stay, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to keep going through this dream. He looked up, reaching forward, pushing up through the sea of knowledge. He began to steadily swim for the light above. On one stroke for the surface, his hand brushed his face on accident. But it wasn't his face he touched - it was the hard edges of his mask - the one given to him by Hermaeus Mora. The one he had not warn since his battle with Vahlok.

 _Strange that my mask would be in this dream_. It hadn't been before.

He reached the light after a few moments that were neither long nor short, yet both. He broke the surface, greeted by the sight of fluttering books, glowing green skies, and book arches and tentacles rising from the green waters. There was no sign of the Daedra lord of the realm, though he felt like his master should be there.

He waited, annoyance running through him. He was still expecting to wake up. When he did not, he decided to find out just how much further he could get into this dream. He made for the nearest metal platform of that odd architecture, feeling like his limbs were heavier than normal. He reached his destination and hauled himself from the green to kneel on the paper-covered metal. He paused, gasping in the stale, cold air, feeling weaker than a newborn. His clothing was, expectedly, dry. He collapsed onto his side, trying to regain himself and calm his breathing. His chest ached fiercely, and he felt almost like falling asleep right there.

 _Strange... Why do I feel so weak?_ "...what an unusual dream." He said aloud to no one when he'd caught his breath.

He turned his gaze back to the green sky, curiosity driving his actions. The pain intensified and he winced. With a grunt, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Finally, he stumbled to his feet, his vision wavering at first. He felt sick, so he stopped, letting himself recover. After a few moments, the feeling faded.

Looking down, he unbuckled his gauntlet of dragon bone and let it fall to the ground. Then, he pulled back his sleeve. The flesh of his wrist was still sore, raw and reminiscent of his iron cuffs. He touched it, and a faint jolt of discomfort filled his arm.

"This is very..." He muttered, scowling uneasily.

"Real?" A lazy voice murmured. The dragonborn looked to the voice to see Hermaeus Mora morph into existence in the sky.

"Then it is not a dream." Miraak relaxed, his voice full of relief.

"No, it is not a dream, as you can see," Hermaeus Mora said.

Then, the memory of Miraak's escape with Zin struck him. His hands flew to his chest where the ice spikes had imbedded themselves. Upon examination, he found that his body was whole and healed, the mortal injuries gone. Miraak turned to stare out over the murky green waters, a small sigh escaping him. He reached up with his hand and grabbed his mask, lifting it from his face. He brushed back his hood and stared into the metallic mask's eye slits. He listened to his own beating heart for a minute, an action that was only possible in this daedra's plane of Oblivion. It was definitely not a dream.

"I suppose this will have to do." He muttered.

"You...do not sound pleased."

"I am grateful to be free of Vahlok... Only, I have spent far too long imprisoned, incarcerated like a beast, and now I feel so...lifeless. I suppose the drug will need time to wear off..." He shut his eyes, exhaling. "I will have to spend some effort on recuperating so that I may return to Tamriel."

"There is plenty of time, Miraak... Here in Apocrypha, you may remain for as long as you need."

"Thank you, Mentor...for saving me."

"Did you really believe I would let you die so soon?" The daedra asked, amusement lacing his voice.

He faded from view.

Miraak stared into the horizon of the Apocrypha, realizing that those words were rather odd. Still, he could not determine how or why, so he shook away his doubts.

* * *

 _This is exhausting, but I'm not a man easily dissuaded,_ Miraak thought, trudging between two towering shelves of Apocrypha.

He paused in a section of unreadable books, casting his gaze around the hall. He could not detect any Seekers nearby, which was odd, considering that they were usually able to be found around every corner. With irritation in his veins, he continued on. The air was chilly, heavy and dark, seeming to drag at him as he passed through it, unforgiving. His limbs burned with fatigue. Any physical effort he'd made lately seemed to be a problem, and it took every ounce of willpower to get to his destination.

However, he was _not_ a man easily dissuaded. A challenge was a challenge, and the dragon within never gave up without a fight. It was only a matter of time before his exhaustion lifted, he knew. All he had to do was deal with his fatigue until then.

He realized that he was now in a tunnel full of darkness. He moved ever onwards, refusing to be discouraged from his task. He picked out a glowing lamp hovering over a figure shaped from metal. He didn't know what it was suppose to resemble until he reached it. He instantly disliked its design. The statue was sinister, shaped like a grotesque fish head. It jutted from the ground and stared at nothing with two large, black eyes. Its small, fish scales shimmered in the light slightly, almost appearing to glisten as though wet. Jagged teeth jutted from its jaws, the kind used to rip helpless prey apart. It was curious to behold, and a little unnerving.

For a moment, Miraak fascinatedly studied the odd figure. Then, he pulled his attention from it.

It was not important.

"Seeker!" He yelled, growing bored of his search for the hairy, floating beings. He winced at his own volume in the mostly-silent realm. He wasn't even sure if he'd get a response to his call.

Luckily, he was not ignored. A Seeker appeared from the air nearby and drifted towards him. He almost sighed in relief.

"Good," he muttered. "Now, lead me to the knowledge I want. I wish to find a way to prolong my life, and I desire to learn of the magicka within the Summit of Aporcrypha." He knew he would be challenged for the knowledge, but he was ready for a challenge. Or as ready as he could be at that moment. He did not have the patience to wait for a full recovery.

The Seeker drifted away, silent.

Miraak leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling dizzy. He took a few moments to recover. As he did so, his gaze was drawn to the odd statue. He shivered a little at its malicious eyes. He couldn't help it. They were disquieting, full of hunger and hatred. He looked away, turning his eyes to where the Seeker had gone.

He could not see it. It had vanished into the gloom of the tunnel.

The lamp that had provided light went out, leaving him in complete blackness.

He peered into the black and heard a noise that turned his blood cold. It wasn't unusual to hear the odd sound every now and again here. In a silent realm like Apocrypha, even a book dropping to the floor was loud and sometimes strange to the ears. However, this noise sounded like a demented howl, and it echoed down the dark hallway threateningly.

Listening, he stepped away from the wall, alert. Carefully, he let a spell of light drift from his hands. Unfortunately, the darkness surrounding him was barely penetrated by the white light. He peered forward, trying to understand where his guide had gone and ignore the eerie roar he'd heard.

 _Where is the Seeker?_ He tensed, uncertain. The last time he'd lost a Seeker, it'd been because he was supposed to pursue it into Apocrypha's depths. He began to pace forward, wondering if he should call out for his missing guide. However, he began to wonder if he shouldn't just let it go. His energy drained, he felt like he waded through mud, his legs leaden. Perhaps he wasn't ready for whatever challenge he would face, but he refused to back down now. He continued on, and the darkness pressed in.

The howl filled the tunnel again, terrible. He involuntarily shuddered at the sound. It reminded him vaguely of a dragon, but distorted. More hungry. He tried to summon his dragon within, but the inner beast shrunk away. He felt a stab of humiliation at the cold fear in his chest. He stepped back.

Vibrations ran through the metal under his feet. Miraak froze. The sound of heavy footsteps rang upon the floor. A labored and heavy breathing filled the air.

 _Thud...thud...thud...thud…_

Miraak could hear its feet, but he could also hear his own heart pounding loudly. He was paralyzed, knowing the beast, whatever it was, was nearby. It was getting closer. It must have known he was there.

His eyes picked out movement. On the other side of his magickal lighting, a creature emerged from the blackness. He started at the huge, distorted fish head. _It has the likeness of the metal statue!_ As he observed the brute, he felt suddenly that the statue had been a warning, a sign of what lay beyond. The monster stomped forward on two clawed feet that scraped the metal with each step. Huge, gray, chitinous plates lined its skin like a strange type of armor. Purple flesh was revealed beneath and between the gaps. Its two arms made it vaguely humanoid with clawed fingers on large hands. A towering, spiked, dorsal fin reached the ceiling of the tunnel.

It stared at him with murky, hungry eyes.

Miraak realized he'd entered some unknown creature's lair. Was it a servant of Hermaeus Mora? Or a seeker of knowledge? It had to be both, right? All who entered Apocrypha answered to its lord. He struggled to relax, to slow his racing heart. It was a monstrous being for sure, but if it was here, it answered to Hermaeus Mora.

It would not attack him. He was Hermaeus Mora's champion.

The creature's jaws opened, and it threw its head back, howling. Miraak stepped back, ready to fly. The creature lunged forward, claws reaching for him.

It was attacking.

Miraak didn't have time to try and discern why it attacked him. He was fleeing. He forced energy into this tired legs, speeding from the beast. He ignored the fatigue that seized him, and plowed on. He heard a snarling howl as the pursuing creature crashed after him.

Miraak burst from the tunnel, his sides aching from the strain. He blinked his eyes, nearly stumbling from the sudden light after the blackness. His weak body was ready to collapse from the strain. Panting, he pressed on, reaching a ledge. He didn't slow in the slightest. With a leap, he flung himself into the air. He fell for a second, smashing into a metal platform. A cry escaped him.

With a groan, he looked up. The horrendous creature lingered at the edge of the tower above, its murky eyes upon him. He watched the spiked dorsal fin fan out in agitation. It roared again before turning and striding back towards the tunnel, its heavy footsteps resonating through the air, a warning. Miraak hissed in a breath, a sharp pain lancing through his side. It took him a moment to collect himself.

More than the dull ache, though, he felt the burn of shame in his gut.

 _I cannot believe I ran! Surely to retaliate would've been better. It was an unnerving creature, but I'm sure it'd still have fallen to my power all the same._

Still, he was fairly low on power. Bitterly, he stared out at the green waves which were becoming all too familiar. He wanted to know why Apocrypha, always so passive to his presence, had suddenly turned hostile. Maybe it had been a test, like when he'd faced the daedra for the black book. He sensed that this was not the case. The creature had not been a test. His instincts told him that it had been a deterrent - a guard to prevent him from gaining what he'd sought.

He almost wanted to test that theory by calling to another Seeker.

Almost.

Knowing he was in no condition to fight, he worked his tense muscles loose. Then, he checked himself for injury. His ribs were still intact, so he knew healing magicka was unnecessary. A lingering ache would be his punishment for such a fall. He clambered to his feet, wincing slightly.

He was not surprised when Hermaeus Mora appeared in the skies above him.

Miraak glared at the daedra through his mask, unable to stop himself. "What happened?" He demanded. "Why was I attacked?"

"Miraak...do you really need an answer to that?"

"Of course," Miraak hissed.

"Well...you should ponder the meaning of what happened… Perhaps you were seeking something you should not..."

"Explain." He demanded.

" _Think_ about it for a moment, Miraak..."

Miraak did stop to contemplate. A chilly realization filled him. He knew the daedra had just confirmed his fears.

He looked away.

"That's impossible," he growled. He couldn't stop the apprehension from settling in his gut, smothering his dragon. He met the gaze after a moment, fighting down his uncertainty. "You would deny me knowledge?" He met the gaze again, refusing his trepidation. "To what end?"

"Necessity...and fate... You must... _trust_ me, Miraak. All will be understood...in time... If you try again for such knowledge, I will have to consider it...betrayal. As my servant, you are compelled to do as I say, and so I command that you do not seek out that knowledge... Do not betray me, Miraak. You do not want that...punishment."

"I..." Miraak wasn't sure what to say. He was unable to bring himself to argue the point further, unwilling to anger his mentor. Beside that, something else was bothering him even more. At first, he thought to ignore it. Then, he realized he had to have an answer. He wanted to change the conversation, anyway.

He shifted uncomfortably before asking, "And why is it that I cannot leave? I have tried, but I cannot find any books to allow me, as I have always done before."

"You did not enter my realm through a book… _I_ brought you here."

"Then," the dragonborn said, instantly making the connection, "You are the one who must let me out."

"Yes."

"Fine." He didn't know just how long he'd been in Apocrypha, but... "It had been enough time... I am ready to return to Nirn."

"No, you are _not_." The daedra's great eye narrowed.

Miraak's heart began pounding and he felt a terrible, dark feeling in his gut - terror. He struggled to contain the rising panic in his chest. What was going on?

"My wounds are healed." He insisted. "I feel exhausted, but I am ready."

"Do not make me repeat myself, Miraak." The daedra whispered, and Miraak felt the thrill of horror rush through him anew. "You will stay, until I deem you ready to leave..."

"Then, when?" He demanded, hating the fear he felt. "You cannot keep me here! I am useless to you without my presence in Mundus! You need me out there! I would build an empire that would spread your influence across the face of the Tamriel!"

"Returning you to that world would indeed give me more influence," the daedra agreed. "But it would also free you from my direct control...and you are being far too rebellious for that."

"What?" Miraak asked, astonished. "You do not _control_ me," he snarled. "We had an _agreement._ "

"An agreement...that said you would serve me..."

"In exchange that you give me knowledge! And you have denied me that knowledge! This...this... Whatever you're doing, it is not part of our deal."

 _Is it?_

The daedra nearly growled his response. "You will remain here... _serving_ me… I only agreed to allow you to have the knowledge to conquer your enemies in the Dragon Order, nothing more... I am not required to give you anything further..."

"You said _all_ of Apocrypha's secrets were mine!"

"Indeed... _after_ the agreement had been sealed... Before, I only agreed to give you the secrets of the thu'um."

Miraak gaped in disbelief.

He realized he was shaking with pure, undiluted rage. It burned through his veins, wild and uncontrolled. His dragon rose, a roar building in its throat. He wanted to burn something... _destroy_ it.

He hissed. "Then everything you've said since has been a _lie_!"

"Not everything... Only when necessary..."

"And so you betray my trust!" Miraak said. "Is this how you reward my loyalty? I should have known. I should have listened those who tried to warn me. You are nothing but a manipulative, selfish _creature_ out for your own gain! I don't know what is worse - that you have turned on me, or that Vahlok was right!" He seethed.

As he'd been speaking, the world seemed to grow more oppressive and dark. He felt the pressure of the air increase, suffocating.

The daedra spoke, and Miraak could feel its terrible wrath lacing its every word, threatening. "What do you _know_ , little mortal? You know _nothing_... What you think you have learned... It is barely the smallest fraction of the greatest power in existence... Your only significance, is that you now belong to me...and that you have done only what I have wanted you to... You _are nothing_..." The tone lightened slightly, which only somehow made the next words more horrifying. "I can crush you without even trying..."

Miraak shuddered, feeling both his hatred and fear. He took a deep breath, knowing his anger would not help him. Still, he'd rather be raging than frightened, and he could feel the fear dragging at him. He swallowed apprehensively, his dragon torn between shouting and cowering.

His fear won out.

"Look, Mentor," he said in a placating tone. "I serve you...and I will continue to do so, even outside of Apocrypha. I apologize for what I said... I admit, I sometimes speak without thinking, especially when I am angry, but I will not turn on you… Please, let me return to Tamriel." He felt the other's anger receding in the face of his submission, and he was surprised at how relieved he felt. The air became lighter, less stifling.

The daedra's voice was now amused. "Not until I am certain you are under my control. Why don't you start assuring me...by calling me... _master_ ," he purred.

Miraak realized that he had given ground, and now, the daedra was taking more than Miraak had thought he'd have to give. He was humiliated, and instantly furious again. "You said that you would not be my overlord!" Miraak shouted in anger. "I do not worship you! You are my mentor!"

"Mentor, no more," the daedra hissed. "Remember, _you_ agreed to serve me when the Dragon Order had fallen. It has, and in service to me, the first command I give you is to call me...master…"

"And if I don't?" Miraak asked, a challenge in his voice, too irate to acknowledge his fears this time. _Damn it!_ His inner dragon snarled.

The daedra laughed softly. "Then I will break you, my slave. Your resistance is nothing… How long do you think it will take, when I have your mind in my grasp? I know your fears...your desires...your pain… I will tear you apart... _unmake_ you...until you are an obedient little mortal... Just as you should be..."

Miraak's voice would not come to him. His fright pushed down his temper.

"Now…" the daedra murmured. "Unless you truly wish me to start ripping your mind apart, I suggest you do as I have commanded."

"I...I…" Miraak felt his thoughts swirling, and he was unable to bring himself to agree or refuse.

"I can summon any illusion to your mind… Should I start by showing you how painfully Zin, the one you love so dearly, can die? Alone...afraid..."

"You…" Miraak was blinded with anger...but he knew he could not resist this monster. "Don't bother," he spat. "I...am yours to command, _Master_." He gritted his teeth.

"Indeed, my servant, my slave… My _champion_."

Miraak's blood boiled with anger at the blatant mockery. It burned through his veins, white-hot and unbearable. He wanted so dearly to attack the traitorous creature, to annihilate it, but he knew he was not capable of such a feat. He was stung to realize that this thing could manipulate their deal so effortlessly. He would never have guessed this creature would do this to him. It made him nearly insane with rage to realize that he had been wrong all along, and Vahlok had been right.

Hermaeus Mora had been using him - was still using him.

"Tell me, _Master_ , why?" He demanded desperately, his fists clenching. "You helped me find my destiny. You gave me such knowledge and power. You guided me to the steps that would allow me to conquer the dragons… Now, you would cage me, no different than Vahlok. No it is worse. You will take my thoughts and use them against me if I try to resist... What of my destiny? What of my role as dragonborn? Tell me why you have twisted our deal, to imprison me here! Why didn't you let me die, then? Why not kill me now!?"

"You should appreciate what I have done for you…" Miraak's multitude of questions went ignored. "And now you are mine in return, for the rest of your mortal life. You agreed to it. That is all the answer you need… Indeed, I could kill you...but this is much more entertaining..."

The daedra faded away, his dark laughter ringing through the air.

"I cannot believe this…" The dragonborn whispered.

His legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor. He sat, shaken and miserable, his thoughts churning wildly. Was this really only happening because it could? Because it amused Hermaeus Mora? The daedra had distorted their deal, simply because it wanted to?

 _And now I've been played as the fool. I cannot even cast off this heaviness that lingers over me, no doubt a side effect of this world. I have not grown any stronger since coming here, and much time has passed, I am now certain. It seems I have little choice but to obey him._

 _He_ _will keep me from returning to my rightful home, Solstheim, but why?_

 _I cannot bring myself to believe that amusement is his only reason._

* * *

.

* * *

 ** _Dovahzul Translations -_**

 _Zoortah - Legacy_  
 _Hi dir fah gruth, joorre! - You (will) die for (your) betrayal, mortals!_  
 _Dovah sos!? Nii nis kos! Dovahkiin ni dilon! - Dragon blood!? It cannot be! (The) Dragonborn (is) not dead!_


	31. Serving the Master of Knowledge

_**A/N** \- Sorry for the delay, my patient readers. The week got busy, so I had to postpone the editing of this chapter. I just want to let you know that I'm not certain I'll be able to maintain my update schedule now. As spring is rolling in rather early(where I live), and I may be getting a bit busier. I will try to keep updating every three days. No promises, though._

 _Anyways, enjoy!_

* * *

~D~

XXXI. Serving the Master of Knowledge

(Aam In do Mindah)

 _The dragonblood continues…_

Miraak knew that he would not see Zin again. He had known it for some time. This information had stuck with him, seeing as he'd already come to terms with his grief long before now. He hadn't needed a book to tell him that she was dead. Indeed, he'd only now been able to bring himself to seek the knowledge of what had been her fate. His curiosity had lead him to the book he'd just read. This book, this dreaded tome of knowledge had given him the answers that he needed to face.

She was gone. She had been so for a long time, but she had not died alone and forgotten, as he'd originally feared. She had pushed for campaigns against the pillaging dragons, had called for the peasants to band together against them, had become a minor queen, and had been granted a funeral of honor by none other than a man named Zoortah, her son. Strangely enough, Miraak had learned that Zoortah had been a dragonborn like his father before him, and so had his prodigy after him. Unfortunately, the kingdom Zin had built had fallen into disrepair and died with Zoortah when he'd been killed by a dragon. His only heir had been an illegitimate child, which had destroyed her claim to the throne.

 _Zoortah did great deeds. He led many campaigns against the dragons, driving them ever out of Skyrim and into hiding, and his line - my line - has continued, more dragonblood spanning ever onward through generations of men and women who have no idea they are descended from the first dragonborn._ Miraak leaned back from his thoughtful musings, closing the book slowly. _It will require time for me to think on this new and unexpected development._

He reflected on how he had spent the better part of his own time in the world of Tamriel trying to determine his place in that world. When he'd learned he was dragonborn, it had been the signal that he would overthrow the dragons. It had been his destiny to bring order back to Skyrim, indeed, to all of Nirn, but that had been a long time ago. Things were far different now. For Miraak, Tamriel had become surreal, a world no longer apart of himself, as Apocrypha had once been. Now, the great library of Hermaeus Mora had become his home, his life, his only reason to linger. The events of the mortal plane felt detached from him, almost unimportant, but he never forgot what he'd once achieved - what he'd once been. Years had rushed by, altogether meaningless in the green world - years that had felt like minutes in the black, brown, green constancy of Apocrypha. Miraak had slowly come to terms that he was not leaving. He had accepted his predicament.

 _It was my fault for not being more careful with the daedra._

He shook his head, frowning as he turned his thoughts back to the knowledge he'd just gained. _The fact that the dragonblood continues on through my bloodline does not ease my mind, though I suspect little will now_.

Miraak mentally cursed and rubbed his temples. _There's little need for these empty thoughts… They will only anger me… That must not happen. As long as I keep my head down, my master will be content to leave me to whatever knowledge I wish to pursue...so long as it does not conflict with his own unknown interests, whatever they may be._

"Idleness has taken ahold of you, become your enemy..." Observed the smooth voice of the Daedric Prince, as if his very presence could be summoned by a negative string of thought.

Miraak glanced up at the creature morphing into view above him, leaning his elbows upon the desk of books he'd created not long ago out of sheer boredom. Not that it would last long. Nothing ever did in Apocrypha. Such constancy did not exist here. Perhaps Mora was right. Learning from any book was never a detriment, but he'd gained little from doing so, thus far. He'd become bored.

"That time, with the fish-like monster," Miraak said, his own thoughts turning to something else entirely - to his last conversation of strife with the daedra, and what had caused it. "It attacked because I asked about the magickal composition of the Summit of Apocrypha, something only you may know."

"Yes"

"And prolonging my life…" Miraak said. "You have already done this…"

"Yes…"

"According to the books I've read, hundreds of years have passed on Nirn. The Dragon Order is mostly dead, and many dragons have perished. I know I have been here far longer than I should have been, far longer than what is possible for a mortal man. _You_ keep me alive, so that our contract cannot truly end. I must admire your cunning, _Master_."

It had taken little effort on his part to realize that Hermaeus Mora had twisted their deal even further than he'd originally thought. Hermaeus had somehow preserved Miraak's life, halting the aging process, depriving him of escape from their deal through the afterlife. Perhaps simply living in Apocrypha for so long had made him this way. He knew he had a connection to this realm that went beyond what he'd originally thought. He was tethered to its energies, trapped so completely that leaving permanently was impossible, just as it had once been impossible to linger in Oblivion for as long as he desired. What he knew for certain, was that he would serve his master for an eternity or more, until the daedra decided otherwise.

Mora's voice was light, almost amicable, when he responded, "Do not feel angry, Miraak. If you knew why I keep you by my side, you would be pleased with your...destiny."

"With your treachery, how can I believe anything you tell me ever again?" Miraak asked bitterly, knowing he needed to stifle his anger and was struggling to do so.

"To answer that, Champion, know that which you are trying to relive...is unimportant..."

"I know, Master… I have accepted my destiny," Miraak agreed with a weary exhale, closing his eyes and conquering his irritation. _You have won. I hope it pleases you, Master._

"Good... Your time of strife in Tamriel is well and truly over… This is where you belong."

"I know."

Yes, he knew his destiny well. Fate had punished him for being so careless; it was still punishing him. He'd thought little of the contract to his master when it had been made. He would deliver a few favors here and there, he'd once thought. He had not guessed the daedra lord would actually steal him from his destiny, and even from his natural death.

As Mora had assured him, his time to rule had come and gone. Fortunately, his master had not denied him all knowledge during his extended existence in Oblivion. As long as the daedra approved, he could learn it. Miraak had been a fool. Had he not rushed headlong into the danger that had presented itself to him, he might have avoided the deal he'd made. Still, he knew that Apocrypha had revealed to him his powers. That much could not have been a coincidence. He had little doubt that all of this had been the intent of Hermaeus Mora, and so he lingered, purposeless.

"You have freed your kin of the dragons' tyranny. You owe that world...nothing," the daedra whispered soothingly. "Your purpose now lies with me. Your destiny, I will show you."

Miraak shuddered a little, loathed to be reminded that he was nothing more than a servant… but perhaps his master was right in one way. Perhaps he owed his world nothing. Destiny had chosen him, and he'd accepted that. But perhaps he had been wrong.

Perhaps this was all he'd been meant for.

"I still have not seen my fate," Miraak said quietly.

"In time…"

 _Knowledge has had to suffice_.

Amongst the ever-changing world of Apocrypha, there was little else to do but fill his mind with whatever mostly-unimportant knowledge he was allowed to lay his hands upon. It was the last solace he had found within the dark and empty world. It was not truly empty, but it certainly felt, at times, like he was the only surviving, intelligent denizen in the green lights that shifted so sleepily, apart from Hermaeus Mora himself. The world was like a slumbering beast, alive with countless thick tomes and scrolls of knowledge. It was constantly changing, morphing, exchanging. Secrets traded places with paths, and mysteries wove into the liquid that sloshed in its banks, contentedly holding onto the tentacles that swayed with such mesmerizing quality.

"I am your servant, Master," Miraak said, wondering if this was the response the daedra desired. "This is my home." He knew he had lost this fight long before he'd ever started fighting it.

Along with admitting his defeat, to himself, to the daedra, to the silence of eternity that pressed upon him, he had to admit his fear. His fear of this dark place, with its endless corners and shuffling walls. The emptiness of the eyes that stared at him from black, needle-thin shelves, inky darkened corners, and deep pools of murky green. Fear, true and palpable, had kept him from further attempts to free himself. At first, that terror he'd experienced had been such an unfamiliar and unworthy feeling, unbefitting of one such as himself. He had the soul of a dragon. Dragons did not feel fear in life, no, only in death. Bitter, icy, cold fear had become more familiar than the walls he often trudged through. Often, he felt the hallways falling in, the sky pressing down, the seas rising up. He was trapped, a skeever in a maze of walls and distracting objects, but always, the sabre cat perched above, ears forward and eyes alert for the slightest reason to reach out and sink its mighty claws into the helpless beast.

That's what he had become.

 _I am now little more than a servant to a creature I still do not understand. I am beginning to realize that he prefers to manipulate and persuade whenever possible, to have others do his bidding. I know that Hermaeus Mora has taken me from my destiny because he cares nothing for the fate of mankind._

 _He only cares about his secrets._

Mora spoke, his voice breaking into Miraak's brooding. "I have a task for you, Champion... One to perform in Tamriel. I believe it is an appropriate time for you to uphold your part of our deal. I will grant you permission to leave Apocrypha..."

Miraak sprang to his feet, nearly knocking over a stack of books in his haste.

Mora continued, "However, you must return to this world when you are finished. I know that you are aware of your connection to my realm... If you linger outside of Apocrypha for too long, you will fade... Keep that in mind."

"Indeed, Master," Miraak answered.

"This tome shall grant you the knowledge to enter Tamriel," the daedra said. "...temporarily, of course."

Miraak watched a Seeker drift forward, carrying a dark book in its hands. He accepted it, looking down at its dark cover.

"What is this task?" The dragonborn asked. Despite the limitations, he felt rather eager to see the world that had been inevitably altered by his own actions.

"There is one who does not realize he holds knowledge that is not yet my own... His secrets will be mine, and you shall make it so. "

* * *

Miraak stumbled forward into the luminous world, struck into thoughtlessness by how bright and colorful everything was - the whites, reds, purples, oranges, and even greens and browns that were far richer than Apocrypha. He stood still, instantly reminded of the way the sky here would light up at night with the colorful hues of the auroras, the way the sunlight would refract various colors off the snow, the way the gold of a dragon priest's mask had flashed as he or she paraded in extravagance before their underlings. Though such tyranny was not beautiful, he'd forgotten about the beauty of the land's diversity. He'd taken it for granted when he'd lived here, just as he'd done with many things. At that thought, he felt a dark emotion well up in his chest, thick and heavy. He'd not felt this emotion since he'd realized he'd never see Zin again... It felt far more uncomfortable than he remembered, and he knew what it was.

Sorrow.

 _This land… It is mine no more._

For a moment, he stood there, his gaze drawn to the sun that was far too bright. The great, burning sphere of light hung low in the sky, spilling a pale red glow like ethereal blood across the landscape draped in the semi-darkness of evening. He adjusted his hand on a black book he held, the other clasping his sword handle. He breathed evenly through his mask and chuckled without mirth or joy.

 _I am now a daedra's pawn._

He halted his less than pleasant thoughts, turning his attention to the river. The impressive, stone city sat next to its partially frozen waters, a bridge extending across the gap, connecting each snowy bank. It stood, open to the sky above, a defiant move to separate its builders from the dragon cult they'd once been subjected to. Miraak made for the bridge, surprised at how pleasant it felt to crunch along the white, solid land even though he could feel the massive drain in his energy being away from Apocrypha. He felt as if he were a ghost, insubstantial and faint. He knew that he would not have long. Several hours, at the most.

He entered the city, assaulted by the sounds of a market. He listened intently, curious. These people - they traded, they bartered, and they spoke, their voices loud and carrying or soft and low. It did not matter. It was strangely familiar. Even in his time, he had seen such activities in the large city of Bromjunaar Gard. Miraak felt like a ghost as he passed through them, unseen, unheard. He knew that being seen, as he was, would draw unwanted attention, and so he shrouded himself intentionally. He was left with an odd feeling, passing through a crowded area where peasants were no longer peasants. The Dragon Order was truly gone.

He crossed to the mighty Palace of the Kings, as it was known, a building of great majesty. It held the banners of its people, proudly displaying them for all to see as they fluttered in the frosty winds. Miraak slipped through the massive doors of the palace, following a group of guards that marched stoically in formation through the open doors. He passed by a splendid dining table, towards a throne in the back. A man in regal wear sat in the throne, leaning languidly upon it as if he were bored.

 _Whatever the time, there will always be leaders,_ he thought idly. _Why has such a burden fallen to those who are content to do nothing in a land of strife and chaos?_

He did not pause to study the king. Instead, he ghosted into the passage where a flight of stairs lead to the upper levels of the palace. He followed the cold, stone hallways until he came upon a large set of doors. He gave little effort in unlocking them. He walked inside, shutting the doors behind him. He crossed to a desk and took a seat, holding onto his book tightly. Here, he let go of his magickal cloaking, allowing himself to become perceivable.

Miraak waited patiently, his gaze raking over the candles and parchments upon the desk. Allowing himself to look further, he made out the intricate carvings in the stone walls, a magnificent, recently-lit fireplace, and a myriad of decorative paintings and objects surrounding the room. He realized the occupant must have disliked its gray blandness to decorate it so. His mind wandered from the décor, but as usual, his thoughts were less than positive. He needed a distraction, but he remained still, knowing he could not fail this task of his. He shuddered to think of the consequences should that happen.

It wasn't too much longer before the door opened. Miraak locked his gaze upon the current High King of Skyrim. The door shut, and the man finally registered the intruder in his room. He froze, hand dropping to his weapon.

Miraak snorted. "I assume dull, gray stones do not suit you well, Your Majesty?"

"What the-?" He started. "Who are you to intrude here?" He demanded, narrowing his eyes at Miraak. His hand rested upon his sword, ready to draw it. "You want to be hauled off to the dungeons, do you?" He asked threateningly. "Why shouldn't I call for the guards?"

"They would not hear you, for one," Miraak drawled. "The door is enchanted for silence, is it not? As it is, I have ensured that it will not open until I am finished here."

He was tall and muscular, but his face was lined with age. His hair and beard were dark, streaked with gray. Miraak could see that age was creeping up on this man.

The king's face turned red with outrage, and a sharp ring indicated his weapon being drawn.

"You will not need that sword," Miraak said, calm. "I am not your enemy."

"You are seriously expecting to leave this room alive, are you? What trick are you playing at?" The high king narrowed his eyes. "What an odd outfit. Who do you think you are, odd man? Jesters usually wear brighter colors," he mocked.

"Who I am is not important," Miraak said, not taking the bait. "I have brought you a gift - an opportunity."

The king crossed the room, hand still holding his sword. He glared down at Miraak, looking as if he wanted to decapitate the intruder right then and there. "What game are you playing, then?" He snapped. "Well, out with it, before I cut you down for this rude intrusion!"

Miraak rested the black book upon the desk, "This," he said, laying a hand upon its cover, "...is what you seek, is it not, High King Hjalmer?"

"I don't know what that is." Hjalmer countered, glaring.

"It is knowledge, which is power in its own right," Miraak stated quietly. "It can give you the edge you have been seeking. The one that would allow you to live up to your father's name."

"Don't insult my intelligence," Hjalmer growled. "I'm far too old to think that it is anything but too late to gain on my father's name, to be more than a shadow of the _great_ king." He scowled harder, instantly realizing what he'd said. The look that quickly filled his face said he blamed Miraak for this slip.

"Power is not what you seek?" Miraak asked, ignoring the king's annoyance. He knew he'd hit his mark, and this man was far too belligerent. This was almost easy.

Curiosity got the better of the man, and he said, "Why would you offer me knowledge, strange man?"

"Because I think you are more keen and ambitious than you have been given the chance to prove. Your father, king Haldar, drove the Snow Elves out of Skyrim...but you, you are trying to escape his legacy, to forge your own. I will be clear; my master has decided that you should be honored with this knowledge, which you can turn into power."

"What? Master? Who is he?"

"Does it matter?" Miraak asked. "The truth is that he offers this because he wants something in return for this gift. Something only _you_ can give him. That is why I am here."

"And what would you want from me?" The king queried, suspicion furrowing his brow.

"Information," Miraak replied. He leaned back. "Knowledge for knowledge. That is what we offer."

They stared at each other silently for a moment.

"No!" the king snapped. "I am not about to accept something from some odd man in a mask who cannot approach me in my own court as everyone else does...on behalf of his _master_ , no less. Pathetic. If you want to work something out with me, come back tomorrow with your master, and we can discuss this at court... Now, unless you have a death wish, stranger, leave." He brandished his sword, stepping back and gesturing at the door. "Be glad I don't slice your head off here and now the way I want to, but for the mess I'd have to clean up afterward."

Miraak did not move. "How about the word...Dragonborn?" he said.

The man started, a little surprised. His arm dropped limply to his side. "What...did...you say?"

"Dragonborn," Miraak repeated. "Mortal men who are imbued with the blood and soul of a dragon. They are masters of the thu'um, and are powerful and talented individuals."

"So? There hasn't been a dragonborn for hundreds of years or more."

"The memories of men are fickle, what they choose to remember," Miraak chuckled, knowing his own name had already been lost to time. "Already, no mortal lives now who remembers that there was once only one dragonborn, and all others are descended from him. Some are more powerful, their blood more potent, but all the same, they are dragonborn. See, what you do not know, King Hjalmer - what has been forgotten - is that a dragonborn married into the line of kings, not realizing her power, hundreds of years ago."

"You mean...?" The king's eyes widened with wonder.

"You are dragonborn," Miraak finished. "Your powers are dormant, but my master can awaken them."

The king became suspicious again. "How can I believe you?"

"If you do not believe me, all you must do is read this book," Miraak said, pushing the tome forward. He folded his arms patiently.

Hjalmer's eyes locked on the black book, and Miraak knew that he would not be able to resist his own curiosity for long. For a moment, the high king said nothing. Finally, he spoke. "What information could you want from me? I am not about to endanger my country..." He said, recovering himself. "Not that I believe this nonsense you're spewing."

"I imagine my master will tell you himself." Miraak smirked under his mask.

"How could he?"

"Through this book..." Miraak said. "This is how you can communicate with him."

The man scowled heavily. Then, his attention was redirected to the tome, and Miraak could sense the hunger there, the desire for the knowledge. It was a trick, almost a power, of the dark tomes. They could communicate to the longing of the mind, the mortal need to know, the insatiable curiosity that drove many. Miraak imagined that his words would be nothing if not for the black, driving aura radiated by the book.

"Well," The king said slowly. "I suppose I can look at this book, and then decide for myself if your _master_ is lying or not." He looked at Miraak as if he suspected that the man before him was simply deranged, though he could not bring himself to ignore this possible opportunity.

"Indeed," said the servant of Hermaeus Mora. He leaned back, folding his arms in front of him. He was amused that this man was so ignorant and foolish, to walk into his trap so willingly.

Hadn't he once been this way? He realized with some irony. Hadn't he been foolish and ignorant in the face of the allure of power?

His own amusement died instantly.

Cautiously, King Hjalmer raked the tome with his gaze before lowering his hand upon it. He did not look away as he hooked his fingers under the edge of its cover and flipped it open. He stared at the page uncertainly, hovering his hand over it. There was a moment when his face clouded with confusion, then went blank. Thoughts were fast, Miraak knew. What was happening in the tome would last for only a few seconds in the world of Tamriel, but minutes were going by in the world of Apocrypha. They were enough for the man to sell his mind to Hermaeus Mora, probably without realizing it.

Long, black tentacles shot from the book and impaled the monarch. A dark eye morphed into view in the room, its presence clouding the atmosphere in darkness. It blinked slowly, smaller eyes appearing behind it in the black.

"What...the...?" Coughed the king.

Unfortunately for the king, the daedra had no interest in this man as a servant. He had only wanted his knowledge.

"Whatever...you...are... I...will...kill...you..." Hjalmer growled, resisting.

He cursed in between coughs and gasps of air. The Daedric Prince snarled and the king screamed in pain. The unfortunate monarch went limp. He thudded to the floor when the daedra pulled back, dead and drained of the secrets Hermaeus Mora had wanted.

"Well done, my champion," Mora sounded triumphantly pleased. "Return to Apocrypha when you are ready… You may linger here longer, if you wish… Accept the... _fresh air_ , as mortals would say...as a reward for carrying out this task so smoothly..." He faded, withdrawing his darkness from the world, tentacles vanishing into the closing portal.

Miraak stared at the empty air before slowly standing up and crossing to the door, leaving the lifeless, empty corpse behind. He could not help but feel grateful he had not been carrying any secret knowledge Mora had wanted when he'd first met the daedra. It looked like a painful and pathetic way to die.

He wasn't that eager for 'fresh air', knowing that it would do nothing for his mood, but since his master was permitting him to linger, there was something he wanted to do before returning to Oblivion.

* * *

Miraak all but dragged his feet across the snow-covered ground. When he reached the top of the hill, he paused, turning to look back at the wilderness around him. He was certain that he was far away from civilization now.

He turned his voice skyward. "SAH ROT AAR!" He shouted.

He did not know if Sahrotaar was alive now. Many dragons had been slain, but he was certain that if the dragon were around, he would answer the call. Miraak waited, eyes on the sky above, listening intently. Minutes passed by slowly, and he wondered if the dragon were indeed dead. No sooner had he thought this, he heard the deep sound of flapping wings carrying across the forest. He almost smiled when he saw the blue-gray dragon fly into view. The dovah hovered above, observing the man below for a moment with his head tilted curiously, wary.

"Welcome back, Miraak thuri," the dragon greeted in surprise, landing upon the ground. It shuddered under his weight. He eyed the dragonborn, hesitating. "I did not think I would see you again. I believed you dead, as many mortal lifespans have come and gone since last I fought for you. I am pleased that you still live..."

"I've been away to Oblivion, Sahrotaar," Miraak said. "I must return there, but I welcome my allies. Are the Triad still alive?"

"Geh, Thuri," replied the dragon affirmatively.

"Good. Find them, and inform them that I still live. They serve me, now that Alduin is gone. Also, I trust that Frinkiizuth and Krosulhah should be open to persuasion, if they are still alive. They both fought Juskkeinfaaz and his allies in my name."

"I do not know how willing they will be," confessed the dragon.

"Remind them of my thu'um, if you must, and its power."

"I will carry out your command." Sahrotaar said, dipping his head.

"Also tell them that I will restore the dragons to a status in which they will no longer be hunted like animals. These peasants will never know mercy for the dovah, but I am dragonborn, different. Should mortal men threaten you, you may hide out in Apocrypha."

"Indeed..." Sahrotaar said, interest gleaming in his reptillian eyes. "The land of knowledge, I hear. It may be worth sheltering there for a time."

"You will now serve Hermaeus Mora through me," Miraak said. "You will extend his influence."

"As you command." The dragon agreed. "If you need me, thuri, do not hesitate to call my name… Perhaps you can find a way to allow us into Oblivion."

"Perhaps," Miraak said.

An idea began forming in his head as the dragon lifted into the air, circling away.

* * *

.

* * *

 ** _Dovahzul Translations -_**

 _Geh, Thuri - Yes, my overlord._


	32. The Wise and the Bold

~D~

XXXII. The Wise and the Bold

(Fin Onik ahrk Fin Boziik)

Time had become impossible to measure, so Miraak never knew how much had gone by. On the other hand, he never gave this realization his attention for long; he had little reason to, considering that his only company were the immortal beings of Apocrypha and time did not affect their unending existence. On a more personal level, he felt no desire to try to determine just how long it'd been since his last visit to Tamriel. Instead of contemplating this thought too deeply, he filled his time in the way he felt was best - by studying. He researched various magickal techniques, unique ways to perform combat training, and different strategies in warfare - all which held secrets that he never could have guessed on his own.

Still, they alone were not truly important to him.

No, what was important, was that along with this knowledge, he'd also been cautiously increasing his own understanding of Apocrypha. It was not an understanding his master would have freely given him. Instead, he had resorted to gleaning small bits of it from simple tests that he disguised with various reasons and excuses.

Though at first he'd been rather frightened, he'd since become rather good at lying back to his master whenever he was directly questioned. His eager willingness to perform any task the other had presented him had seemed to have soothed any of the daedra's suspicions. It was a definitely risky game, but one that was worth playing, even if he would _never_ dare to openly rebel against Hermaeus Mora.

It certainly felt better than quietly and fearfully living in the shadow of a being that definitely did not have his best interests factored into its plans.

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, he returned his attention to the task at hand. He was currently at the Summit of Apocrypha, pacing back and forth across the metallic floor, flipping through a book quietly. He finished his examination of the dark tome, closing the cover gently. He looked from it, dropping it upon the floor. His gaze was drawn to the creature before him.

"Begin," he commanded it.

The Seeker rasped, a gurgling noise resonating from it. Slowly, it raised both of its arms, light glowing from its long, thin fingers. It brought both hands down, the power glowing with a dark green light. The light pulsed, and the air filled with magicka. For a moment nothing more happened. Miraak moved forward, concentrating upon the potent energy that lingered.

"Gol Hah," he whispered quietly. His thu'um combined with the green light.

He grasped at the energy, which began to darken. He reigned it in with his mentality. He felt the darkness in his conscious grasp, fluid and strong. Furrowing his brow, he visualized the energy, directing it as he imagined. The black essence stabilized, shifting until it swirled in and out of itself. Without haste, the inkiness became a hole, an outlet, a portal. Miraak braced the energy, recalling his old lessons with the Dwemer, hoping their tricks would work for this.

The portal flickered, and then stilled, now grounded.

 _Success!_

With the magicka stable, he leaned forward, shouting into the gap that lead into the mortal world. "SAH ROT AAR!"

He didn't have to wait long before the dragon emerged from the portal, stepping into Apocrypha on its claws and wings. Sahrotaar rumbled appreciatively upon seeing Miraak, voice ringing solidly through Apocrypha's thin air. "Thank you, Thuri." He said. "Your timing was also impeccable. For days, human hunters have been tracking me." He snorted. "Now they will get lost, instead."

"Sahrotaar," Miraak greeted. "It is good that I have saved your life."

"I have longed to see Oblivion." The dragon said after a moment of studying his surroundings with a searching gaze. "It is a sight few dragons can honestly say they have seen..."

"I-"

A soft voice broke into the conversation, "This dragon is searching for something." Hermaeus Mora appeared slowly, his dark presence surrounding the dragon and dragonborn like ink bleeding from the sky. His tentacles undulated lazily, framing his large eye in the green atmosphere. "He will not find it here..." He finished ponderously.

"Fen Deyra," Sahrotaar said, raising his head to look at the lord of Apocrypha.

"This dragon serves me," Miraak supplied, mask turned towards Hermaeus Mora. "I did not wish death to befall him."

"You...do not need _servants_ , Miraak," Mora drawled. "Much less...this...portal...you have created... You already have the means to access Tamriel..."

"The portal was a moment of curiosity. I wanted to see if the thu'um could enhance magickal properties," Miraak said, keeping his tone calm and free of anything that might be identified as a challenge. "And as for the dragon... I may not necessarily _need_ his service, but you cannot deny that a dragon may help any mission I must undertake in the future...at your command, no less."

For a moment, the lord of Apocrypha was silent. Then, he whispered, his voice dropping from before, "I do not want the dragon to remain here...for he is has nothing to offer me... If you _must_ protect this... _investment_...take it elsewhere."

Miraak frowned behind his mask, but his words were obedient when he spoke. "As you say, Master. Do I have permission to enter Tamriel?"

"You do," Hermaeus Mora replied, sounding bored. "You've been gone from Tamriel for quite some time... A reminder - do not linger there for too long, Miraak." The great eye blinked for emphasis.

"I want to learn," Sahrotaar said to the daedra. "Is this not enough?"

"Your mind is not ready...or willing...to learn my secrets. I have no use for you, dragon... Only my servant does," he ended, fading from view, his presence vanishing.

"I am surprised, Thuri, to be rejected in such a manner!" Sahrotaar thundered, causing the dragonborn to wince at such volume in the mostly-silent atmosphere of Apocrypha.

"Quiet, Sahrotaar," Miraak muttered, closing his eyes. "You should consider yourself lucky that he has allowed me to help you."

He concentrated again, redirecting the portal's energies.

 _This is becoming rather easy. I am impressed by the Dwemer knowledge that has helped me in this endeavor._

Opening his eyes, he said, "Come, Sahrotaar." He stepped through the portal.

Outside, Miraak walked into a large, open clearing on a vast mountainside. This area overlooked a small valley that held a jungle of closely-packed trees and vegetation. He paused, exhaling softly, and then he inhaled deeply, drawing in the wondrous air rich with moisture and the scent of mud and plants. While secretly enjoying the freshness of the mortal plane, he listened to the dragon following him - the heavy thudding of its clawed feet, the scrape of its coarse wings upon the metallic floor of Apocrypha followed a moment later by the brushing of the leathery flesh upon the soft grass and moss of Nirn. He heard the dragon maneuver around him to stare into the valley below curiously.

Miraak folded his arms and stated bluntly, "I cannot guarantee your safety, Sahrotaar. Not yet." He continued, elaborating, "The men in the eastern lands of Akavir rouse themselves, preparing a purge against dragonkind without equal. They will invade Tamriel. I have brought you south, though I fear it may not be enough. I want you to avoid the fighting when it comes to the best of your abilities. I would not have you waste your life."

"I understand," Sahrotaar replied. "I will be cautious."

Miraak nodded and said, "I do not have much time, so I will summon the other dragons here now. I must speak with them before I return to Apocrypha." The dragonborn turned his voice up towards the heavens to summon the other dragons he'd once fought beside - the ones that Sahrotaar had insisted were still willing to fight for him. Frinkiizuth, Krosulhah, Kruziikrel, Relonikiv, and Mindahrel, these names were all shouted into the sky.

After that was done, Sahrotaar commented, "Dragons are fast flyers, and most are already further south than normal. It will not take them long to reach here."

For a moment, the two stared into the jungle.

"The jungle is unknown to me," the dovah said, and Miraak thought it odd that he seemed to be making idle conversation. Since when did dragons do that? Sahrotaar was not done, though, and Miraak listened to him without interrupting. "I am curious as to what manner of creatures live in this part of the land. They may not welcome a group of dovah so openly."

"There are elves here," Miraak informed him. "But I have not studied their nature as of yet. Nothing is constant, so I have tried not to study too deeply into the cultures and beliefs of various races, as I never know when they will simply vanish. Like the Dwemer..." Miraak scowled. "Such an advanced race of knowledge, gone in the pursuit of more, lost in the blink of an eye. If I have learned anything, it is that it is far easier to lose than to gain... What happened to the deep elves has caused an unforgivable setback to this world's collective knowledge."

"Indeed. Perhaps there is something to be learned from their mistake," Sahrotaar suggested. "Perhaps seeking knowledge is not always the best course of action."

Miraak almost agreed, realizing where such pursuits had lead himself - to the prison of Apocrypha. He wondered if perhaps seeking knowledge was not the wisest goal, as opposed to what he'd once believed. Instead, perhaps ignorance was better… He shook his head. How could that be? If he'd remained ignorant, he'd have died long ago and been forgotten with the other dragon priests, probably killed by another when he'd grown too old and feeble to protect himself.

 _Considering what little I have gained for my efforts, that may as well have been the case,_ he thought bitterly. Despite this thought, he could not grasp the concept that ignorance was better than learning. He truly believed that knowledge was power, that ignorance was weakness, and he knew it was unlikely his opinion on that would ever change.

He mused out loud, "Knowledge is power...if one does not walk those paths carefully, he falls. Often, many dangerous paths are also worthy ones. The Dwemer may have failed, but I do not see why that should hinder others. Perhaps the deep elves became too greedy, too eager to learn too quickly. Perhaps they simply did not handle the situation properly. We must not give up, regardless, even if others stumble and fall in their attempts... We must learn from ours - and others' - mistakes.

"That is truth."

"Sahrotaar…"

"Yes, thuri?"

The dragonborn turned to stare into the dragon's eyes. "Why do you serve me? You have not been under the influence of my will for some time."

The dragon snorted, as if the answer were obvious to him. "Your thu'um and suleyk hold mastery over mine. You need only defeat me once for this to be apparent."

"And what of Alduin? I did not gain the chance to prove my worthiness in combat over him, and did you not serve him before?"

"Faal Diistkiin is gone."

"He is not dead, and the evidence suggests that he will return. A prophecy was written that said he would...and that the _last_ dragonborn would destroy him…" Miraak paced. "I do not understand. Why would…?" He paused, understanding dawning upon him. "Sahrotaar... I think I know what the prophecy means. Dragonborn exist to bring order to chaos...when this has been achieved, a dragonborn will no longer be needed. Indeed, when Alduin returns, either all will end, or chaos will be tamed…"

"Or perhaps neither," the dragon observed. "Destiny has been defied before."

Miraak said, "Rarely are truths so simple…"

"As you were asking, Thuri, Alduin may return, but he will take his vengeance upon this world. We will all suffer his wrath, loyal or not. I would rather serve the one with the highest possibility of destroying him."

The dragonborn hesitated for a moment, contemplating that. It made sense, even when considering it from a dragon's point of view. Sahrotaar did not want to be punished for something he had not done, as all beings would surely face Alduin's wrath for the defiance of mortalkind to his rule.

Miraak said, "Is there no other reason to serve me than my power?"

"I respect you, Thuri. A dovah does not serve lightly. Many would rather die than serve a master. I imagine you understand this feeling, which is why your own master has been so harsh to you."

Miraak winced a little behind his mask, glad the dragon could not witness his immediate reaction. Carefully, he asked, "It is so _obvious_?" Well, he'd meant to be careful, but his words were a little more rough and challenging than he liked.

"If you wish honesty, then yes, it is…" The dragon confirmed. "I am certain that he believes crushing a dovah's hopes is the easiest way to make that dovah submit, and you are dovah, Miraak, no matter how much you look like a human."

Miraak began pacing again, "You are surprisingly wise, Sahrotaar. You seem...different, almost."

Sahrotaar raised his head a little, eyes gleaming. "After last we spoke, I sought out the Old One - Paarthurnax. I wanted to learn more of the daedra."

"Paarthurnax lives?" Miraak asked.

"Yes, Thuri. I found him in a remote corner of Skyrim, hiding from the dragon-hunters. He gave me some insight… I enjoyed learning from him," Sahrotaar admitted. "I did not think I would at first, considering that he was the first of the dov to turn on the Old Order. I wanted to fight, but he showed me peace. I realized I had not felt concern for the Old Order in a long time - it was my dovah pride that demanded I challenge him."

Miraak said, "Indeed."

"I will continue to serve you, Thuri Miraak, because a dovah can recognize the worth of a strong leader. He can sense great inner and outer strength as well as power. Alduin demonstrated all of those qualities, and that is why he was followed...but a dovah trusts his instincts... I trust mine..."

"And your instincts say to follow me?" Miraak asked.

Sahrotaar looked at Miraak keenly before speaking, "Yes. We Serpentine dragons, as we are now known, have been condemned as weak, worthless. Few of us earn any respect… We are not large, we do not have great scales of natural armor - our flesh is soft - and we do not view things the same as other dragons. You remember Diiviizkren, the serpentine dragon that the priest of brutality served. He was the first dragon to ever let a man ride him into battle… So perhaps I am merely being foolish to state so, with my _serpentine_ blood flowing through me, as I am certain no dragon would admit, but should Alduin return… Your legacy will destroy him.

"And I know it is not just me. I sense that the Triad believe in your significance, as well, Miraak Thuri. They believe that you are the last hope of dragonkind, even if they have not told me so directly."

Miraak did not respond, instead, he stared contemplatively at the world below, considering what had been said. He was appreciative of their loyalty, for they would serve him well. Still, he did not know if he were the last hope of dragonkind. That seemed to be an overstatement, but maybe they needed him to bring peace so they would not be hunted and killed like animals. Few mortals seemed to remember that dragons were sentient beings - another race upon the world. Annihilation of their kind did not seem like the answer, he thought. No race deserved that, especially after what had happened to the Dwemer.

He pushed away those thoughts, a question forming in his thoughts. "What did you want to learn from Hermaeus Mora?" Miraak asked.

"I wanted him to confirm a simple truth, and he did."

"Oh?" Miraak felt surprised by the response. "What truth?"

"The fact that he wanted me gone proved that he is uncertain - that he does not know all, as he would have us believe." The dragon shifted a little, tensing.

Miraak froze, his voice coarse when he spoke. "What? What do you mean?"

"Why would a daedra that knows all drain the minds of mortals for their secrets?" The dragon asked rhetorically. "They do not become his unless he makes an effort to gain them. He is learning from you, and he would not cage two dovah, when he is still studying one. You are the first dragonborn… It is understandable that his interest in you ties into this desire for knowledge."

Realization stung Miraak coldly. _Indeed, my master has been working every angle of persuasion and manipulation since that first day. As dragonborn, I am valuable to him, because of what I am. He waited patiently to spring the trap, and once he had done so, he needed to break my will thoroughly. I am not a cringing mortal...I am a dragon. I do not understand what I am, even now, and that secret must be very valuable to him._

 _He will learn it before he is done with me…_ Miraak mentally stopped himself, even though he couldn't get the thought out of his head. Trying to push away that information for the moment, he commented, "You _have_ spent much time with Paarthurnax."

"He wants to teach the dov a different way than what Alduin had. He wishes to prove that we are not corrupted beyond salvation."

Before Miraak could say anything further, he heard the distant sound of a carrying roar. Looking up, he noticed the dragons he'd summoned soaring through the distant sky, their silhouettes thrown into view by the sun. They were still a fair distance away, but they would arrive soon.

"I am surprised to have had such a conversation with you, Sahrotaar," Miraak said as he watched the dragons on the horizon. He returned his attention to the serpentine dragon. "Before the others arrive, I want to share something with you."

Slowly he concentrated, pulling the power of his thoughts to him. He focused his vital energies as if he were about to shout, but made them into a more magickal form instead. He shut his eyes, redirecting this power. The knowledge flowed from him to the dovah, pouring like a white light between them. The blue-gray dragon glowed, accepting it. He absorbed the knowledge, dropping his head slightly.

Miraak felt a little weaker after using his power in such a way in Tamriel, but he was also satisfied with the results.

The dragon's eyes shined a silvery-white for a moment longer before they returned to normal. "I am not surprised, Thuri," he said at length, comprehending the knowledge.

"Do you understand the burden that I have placed upon you?" Miraak questioned intently. "Along with this knowledge, we will now have a more focused connection. I may need to communicate with you without speaking. I am trusting you, by creating this bond between us, and I have never trusted a dragon on this level before."

"I understand."

"The others will need you, as well. Do not teach them this knowledge...yet. I do not know if they are trustworthy."

"I am certain they would not betray you."

"My Master is unpredictable," Miraak retorted. "I cannot know that he would not use these dragons to manipulate me somehow."

The rest of the dragons began descending through the air around Miraak and Sahrotaar, their mighty size sending tremors through the ground upon landing. The Triad soon stood wing to wing behind the dragonborn, while Krosulhah and Frinkiizuth landed on the other side of the clearing. These two dovah exchanged a glare before backing away and putting distance between themselves, nearly spitting with hostility.

 _A rivalry?_ Miraak wondered, noting how tense they were. Usually, dragon disputes were quickly settled by blood and death, but perhaps these dovah had not been able to solve their differences yet because they followed his own orders. He almost sighed in exasperation, knowing he needed to get to the root of their problem, not wanting to worry about the possibility that his allies might rip into each other instead of cooperating.

However, Frinkiizuth cleared up the confusion quickly. He fastened a baleful glare upon Miraak and said in his own language, "You have finally deigned to speak with the rest of us? Not just Sahrotaar, your favored pet!?" He stomped towards Miraak, towering above the dragonborn. His voice was like the sound of hot lava spilling down a fissure, smooth but fiery. His plated and spiked hide was a deep, rich red, his eyes the color of the sun. "I do not see why I should continue to serve you, Miraak. You are the reason dragons are hunted like pitiful animals." He snarled. "I listened to Sahrotaar only because I had little choice unless I wished death by the hunters!"

Krosulhah spoke before Miraak could, snarling with anger. "Watch your tongue, Frinkiizuth! You forget that Miraak conquered you with but a single shout. Your thu'um is nothing to him now, and he can slay and devour you with ease."

The red dragon fixed his anger on the other. "I am no longer under his power. Do not speak to me of weakness, Krosulhah." He growled, his voice deep and throaty, "I wasn't the one about to be killed by a pathetic mortal…"

Miraak tilted his head slightly. _You were, actually…_ he wanted to say, thinking of how the dragon had admitted to feeling out of options because of mortal hunters. Instead, he went with a more diplomatic approach. "I had thought the dragons respected power. It seems you have forgotten mine."

The dragon looked back to Miraak, his tone biting, "You were defeated by the ones we fought in your name, unless your memory is nothing. When you took my mind, I was overcome by fear in my heart from facing an unknown enemy." He stepped forward. "No longer. You are known to me now. You are another grasping mortal, nothing more. You want to see all dragonkind burn for ruling your pathetic, worthless lives."

Sahrotaar began to back away from Miraak, exhaling quickly. The serpentine dragon sniffed, as if he smelt blood in the air.

Miraak walked closer to the rebellious dragon, looking up while somehow managing to seem as if he were the one staring the other down. His inner dragon snarled. It'd been far too long since a dragon had believed himself better than the dragonborn.

He asked, "Do you really want to test the capability of my thu'um, dragon? True, I lost my hold on your will during my imprisonment, but you must realize that I can now exert it over you whenever I want. However, I do not wish to hold you under forced servitude for centuries, Frinkiizuth; I would have your allegiance without shouting, and if not that - your death."

Frinkiizuth gave the dovah equivalent of a laugh - a deep, rough, gravelly noise. "My allegiance. I owe it only to Thuri Alduin. He will be back. He will destroy you, dragonborn," he snarled. "He will obliterate the dragonblood from mortalkind and devour your soul."

"Impossible," Mindahrel finally spoke. "Father Akatosh created the dragonborn. Alduin cannot defy Father's will."

"He already has, you foolish dragon," Frinkiizuth hissed. "Why do we bow to the one who wishes our destruction? If this dragonborn is the son of our father," he looked at Miraak. "Then Father desires our deaths… I will not serve this abomination of his."

"Then why did you come here?" Miraak asked, struggling to contain his temper. He knew the dragon was goading him intentionally, and he would have loathed to fall for such bait, as if he were nothing more than a young dragon, brash and hotheaded.

"To learn your intentions, dovahkiin," the dragon answered smugly in the mortal language. "Zu'u fen ni nibor hi ko Taazokaan. When dragonkind is so close to death, I prefer to learn of the one who instigated it... Hokoron. The _enemy_." A puff of smoke exited his nostrils. "Zu'u laan krii hi." He added, expressing a desire to kill the other. "If you carry dovah sos ahrk sil, you _will_ face my challenge!"

The other dragons hissed and growled.

Kruziikrel said before Miraak could respond, " _You_ are the foolish one, Frinkiizuth!"

Relonikiv agreed, "You surround yourself with the allies of your enemy while announcing your intentions to fight?"

Mindahrel finished, his voice carrying a low, menacing quality, "The Triad? The dovahkiin? And two of his loyal allies? You will fight us all?"

"Nid," Frinkiizuth said negatively, his tone impatient. "If Miraak is dovah, as he claims, he will face me alone." He looked at Miraak.

Miraak was smoldering now, and only the supreme patience he'd learn in Apocrypha stayed his hand. His endless life as Hermaeus Mora's servant had taught him to control his anger, to still his tongue. It had taught him that a violent or aggressive response was not always the wisest. He had to consider carefully. Frinkiizuth may not be worth fighting. Such a fiery dragon might be a useful ally, though he could see little in the dragon that wanted to submit to him.

"Come, Miraak," the dragon snarled. "Face me. If you are truly more powerful, then you will make me believe it."

Now the other dragons were staring at Miraak, curious to his response.

Miraak wanted to refuse. He did not want to battle this creature for such a pathetic reason, as if he'd been goaded into a fight by a child.

"Thuri," Sahrotaar said after a moment, drawing the dragonborn's gaze. He seemed to sense the other's reluctance. "I will always be loyal, as you know, but you must understand that these dovah have not heard Paarthurnax's words. If you back down now, even your allies will see it as an act of fear or weakness, not one of wisdom."

The serpentine dragon's words rang true. Miraak clenched his jaw. "So be it." He turned to Frinkiizuth. "You are a volatile being," he commented. "However, I will not back down from your challenge, even if it is made on such fragile reasoning."

The other dragons lifted into the air then, knowing that the fight was about to happen. They distanced themselves, but hovered in the air to watch nevertheless. They looked down from the sky, attention drawn to the impending violence.

Miraak directed all of his attention to the dragon before him, analyzing what he could of the beast. It was covered in thick, armor-like scales that projected into spikes. However, he noticed that the scales on its chest seemed to be thinner, the flesh underneath more vulnerable. He quickly assessed other possible weak points - its golden eyes, and the thin flesh covering its wings and wing joints.

Frinkiizuth reared his head without warning, jaws opening. His thu'um spilled forth, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A wave of fire rushed through the air.

Miraak stayed still, not bothering to react. He emerged from the fire unharmed, drawing his sword in the same fluid motion. "I am not a young child just learning his powers," he told the dragon. "Did you truly believe your thu'um would be able to hurt me?" He chuckled. "I will need little effort to subdue you."

The dragon did not move. "You are unscathed, and you did not block my attack!" He hissed.

"I have lived for well over a thousand years now," Miraak said. "Most of that time has been spent learning...and much of what I learned was power and strength." He added privately in his thoughts, _Hermaeus Mora does not care how much power I have; it will never be enough undermine him._

The dragon roared and sprang into the air, flapping his wings fiercely to gain height.

Miraak did not move, holding his sword while patiently watching his foe. He was calm, calculating. He began to realize he had overestimated this dragon.

Frinkiizuth circled around before diving at him, a shout tearing from his mouth. "YOL!"

Again, Miraak accepted the fire, allowing the other to see outmatched he was.

"Dozens of your kind have I killed," Miraak said, summoning his magicka. "And yet their deaths did not change your mind. You are a young dragon - stubborn _and_ foolish."

The dovah twisted in the air, dropping towards the dragonborn with extended claws.

"SU GRAH DUN!" Miraak shouted, his weapon glowed white, empowered. "WULD NAH KEST!" He continued, directing the power upwards. He was propelled towards the diving dragon. His blade sank deep into its chest, driven by the force of his thu'um. The weapon ripped into the dragon, becoming lodged in its tough plating.

Frinkiizuth shrieked, shaking itself to try and dislodge the dragonborn's weapon. Miraak braced himself on the dragon, Holding onto the sword with one hand, he raised his other, surging electricity from his fingers. The power rippled across the dragon, who seized, going limp as the energy weakened his muscles. Frinkiizuth plummeted, falling headfirst towards the ground. Miraak felt exhilaration run through him from the rapid descent.

The dragon hit the ground roughly and slid back, its plated body gouging deep ruts into the grass and dirt. Miraak was dislodged from the harsh landing, thrown to the ground. He picked himself up immediately, striding over to the beast and placing his green blade upon the dragon's neck. He pressed it between the scales, pushing it into a position where much more pressure would allow him to deliver a speedy death, if necessary.

Quietly, Miraak stated, "Yield, and I will spare you. Refuse, and I will kill you."

Frinkiizuth, dazed, finally found himself, recovering from his shocking fall and seized muscles. "I am humiliated by this defeat," He rumbled, "but I was also taught much I did not know. You are truly dovah."

"You cannot doubt my power now," Miraak said. "Know that you were subjected to only a small portion of it."

"I yield," Frinkiizuth said. "I serve you, Thuri." The dragonborn pulled his blade back and the dovah raised himself, saying, "However, if Alduin Diist-Thuri returns, I will owe my allegiance to no one until you or he is dead."

"I want to trust you...and for you to trust me," Miraak stated. "But that comes after - not during - the defeat."

The other dragons returned, landing upon the ground to retake their original positions. Frinkiizuth raised his head at them challengingly, as if expecting them to point out what a fool he'd been to face the dragonborn to battle.

Miraak found it becoming difficult to move, and knew he needed to return to Apocrypha. "I must return to Oblivion," he said, addressing the dragons in their own language. "Heed my words. One day, you will hear my voice again. It may not be soon. It may be a thousand years from now...or longer...but it will happen. Until then, you will remain here. If a problem arises, I will rely on Sahrotaar to inform me. Do not face the hunters that will come from the north. Hide yourselves from them. They do not have wings as you do. However, you will not always need to fear them, if you follow me."

Miraak paused, looking over his following of dragons, taking a deep breath before saying, "One day, I will fulfill my destiny as dragonborn, and your loyalty will be remembered and rewarded."

With that, he concentrated on Apocrypha. With a surge of magicka, he jumped the realms, feeling his diminishing powers restored upon re-entry into the world of secrets. After the rich air on Nirn, the stale air of Apocrypha was a little hard to breath for a few seconds. He stomped forward, feeling a surge of anger, and he knew that he would rather die than remain a prisoner here.

 _You will never break me, Hermaeus Mora. I_ will _find a way to escape you._

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul translations -**_

 _Thuri - my overlord_  
 _Fin Deyra - The Daedra_  
 _Suleyk - Power_  
 _Diistkiin - Firstborn_  
 _Zu'u fen ni nibor hi ko Taazokaan. - I will not ignore you(r presence) in Tamriel._  
 _Hokoron - Enemy_  
 _Zu'u laan krii hi - I want (to) kill you._  
 _sos ahrk sil - blood and soul_  
 _Nid - No  
Diist-Thuri - Once-(my)overlord_

* * *

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- Honestly, I don't know exactly when the prophecy of the Last Dragonborn emerged, or was discovered, but I figured this would be a good time to reference it. I see no reason why it cannot exist this early on, especially in Apocrypha - the realm of secrets and knowledge - which is where Miraak learned of it._

 _Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!_


	33. Nightmare of the End

_**A/N** \- Sorry for the delay this chapter, readers. I came down with a mild case of writer's block for a scene in this chapter. I finally figured out how I wanted to write it a few days ago, but didn't get a good chance to edit until yesterday and today. Here it finally is after the long delay!_

 _I hope you enjoy the newest chapter. :)_

* * *

~D~

XXXIII. Nightmare of the End

(Hahvulon do faal Oblaan)

 _The heavens reflected multiple colors, blue, green, and purple painting the landscape below in cool, peaceful hues. Far beyond and above the clouds, cold bitter stars glimmered in the black reaches of the sky. The fresh air carried the scent of wildflowers and vegetation. A pleasant stirred, and the large field of gold-green grasses swayed gently, bending to the unknown, silent tune. Golden plants unleashed spores, which took flight and were bore aloft, filling the air itself like gold snow._

 _Miraak stood upon a rise, overlooking this quietly. He did not recognize this place, but it was very familiar to him. He looked on, and f_ _or a moment, he felt nothing but the desire to stay._

 _But that desire was quickly pushed away, to be replaced with a darker emotion. The peace was broken by an ungodly roar. Looking up, he caught sight of a great beast as black as the emptiness between the stars in the heavens. Its red eyes were full of hatred. Its scales were twisted into vicious spikes. The ancient and corrupted being threw a dark shadow that plunged the idyllic world into terrible night. A black fog flooded the grassy landscape, and the stars winked out, as if they'd never existed._

 _Miraak felt pure fear, and he lunged forward from the rise, stumbling, running. He felt the strain on his body, rushing forward, but he could see nothing. He could sense however, the beast closing in on him. There was no escape. Determined to not be caught in such a pathetic flight, he stopped as abruptly as he'd started, trying to gain a sense of where the flying monster was._

 _The black dragon soared above, only visible because it was darker than the darkness it'd cast over the land. It circled around, mercifully away, but mercy was never in its intentions. Fire burst from its jaws, lighting up the night, and screams of fear and pain rang from the fields that were now ablaze. The dragon circled around until it hovered over Miraak, a carrying, booming laughter ringing from it that sounded strange, foreign - a laugh that heralded the end of existence and time itself._

 _"What are you?" The destroyer asked in perfect dovahzul. "You are one mortal, and you will never win the fights you choose. Your existence is insignificant. All things end, even you. The only reason you exist, is to fall."_

 _Miraak stared, numb. He could not move or speak, but terrible fear flooded him. His limbs felt like they had weights tied to them, and he was cold inside._

 _The dragon landed, his great body creating an earthquake that ruptured the ground under his claws. Darkness rained from the sky. The grass under him began to wither and die, changing from golden-green to burnt-brown in an instant, crumbling and fading away. The creature rumbled, "You are not a dragon's bane, Miraak. You are simply a fool, trying to follow an imagined destiny." With that said, he lunged forward, jaws open._

 _Miraak never received the chance to react. A figure emerged from the black fog, a sword held before it that slashed into the dragon's head, plunging into one of its malevolent, crimson eyes. The destroyer let forth an ungodly scream, flinching back. The figure howled a battle cry in turn, whipping the weapon free, black blood glinting on its blade._

 _The warrior shouted, the voice indistinct, but certain,_ _"FUS RO DAH!"_

 _The beast reared away from the dragon shout, roaring in agony, blood on its face._

 _"We do not fear you!" The warrior shouted as the dragon recovered. "You are the one following the imagined destiny, beast!"_

 _The dragon opened its mouth, letting out a mighty howl._ _"DOVAHKIIN!" The dragon thundered, the ground splitting under the force of the word._

 _Miraak watched the dragon and warrior clash, the resulting force of their collision sending another tremor through the land. With soil and grass falling around him, he found himself plummeting through the darkness, the drop stealing his breath away. The word, 'Dovahkiin', echoed around him, ringing through the land. Voices, all belonging to different speakers, whispered beneath it clearly, easy to hear despite the loud ringing of the powerful word._

 _"Brash, young, stupid, arrogant...you are a daedra's pawn!"_

 _"I will enjoy stealing the life from you, grasping child…"_

 _"Lord Miraak, I didn't know you were alive!"_

 _"I will stay with you...for as long as we live…"_

 _Miraak felt a thrill from the swift descent, and heard an agonized screech from somewhere far away. Through the darkness, he saw the red eyes of the destroyer._

 _They weren't looking at him._

* * *

Miraak jolted up, certain he'd been hit with a spark of electricity. He gasped heavily, feeling the stale air fill his lungs. He felt his heart pounding, and his body was stiff, as if he'd been fighting with the beast in his dreams. The nightmare lingered in his mind, its terror fresh. He closed his eyes, blocking out the dull, green world around him. He could still see the two scarlet, hateful dots in the darkness on the back of his eyelids. Steadying his breathing, he pushed himself to his feet, staggering to the nearest wall filled with books and scrolls, leaning on it for a few moments. He cursed, unable to stand how weak he felt. It reminded him too much of the worst fights he'd been in. With a exhausted exhale, he found his footing. He pressed forward, the dream flooding his thoughts.

"What is the point?" He demanded of the empty atmosphere, his gaze drawn to the green sky above filled with glowing clouds and the sporadic braches of dark tentacles. "Why do you persist!?" He couldn't stop his words; he couldn't stop the anger he felt, his weakness, his helplessness. He'd had enough. "Alduin will _destroy_ the world!" He yelled. "And I will be here, purposeless! What is it that you want from me!?"

Receiving no immediate answer, he stopped, lost in thought. _I have no purpose…_ He knew the dream was a remnant of his own fear. His fear that he would fail...as he had done so already.

He cursed. "Failure is my legacy," he said. "The dragonborn of Tamriel have achieved little victory against chaos, thus far... Alessia's strengthening of the veil between Oblivion and the mortal plane was certainly useful, but her peace relies on the dragonborn bloodline." He was seized by a stab of emotion that set a chill in his soul. "I should be out there, where I am needed."

Instantly, he burned with frustration.

"Master. What is your plan?" He demanded. "Tell me! You surely cannot plan to keep me here for an eternity…" he laughed dryly. "What is the benefit."

This time, Hermaeus Mora appeared. He whispered, "You surely see the benefit of having the Master of Fate and Knowledge guide you, Miraak... You cannot see what I do...and what may seem purposeless to you...is far more significant than you realize."

"Then tell me," Miraak said. "I want to know. I want to understand. Tell me what significance there is in this."

"You have already felt its effects," Mora said. "Had I not brought you here...you would have died... Your hand has been most useful in pushing fate to the intended course... This has been your destiny, has it not?"

"No," Miraak was seized by defiance. "It was not my fate to pursue _your_ intended course for destiny. That is different. I just saw in a vision - the Firstborn devoured the world...completely rending it before his fury. The world's strongest warrior fought back, but in the end, it was not enough...that is the destiny you intend, is it not? I know that you care nothing for the mortal plane, except for what secrets you glean from it."

"Then why would I wish to allow that world to die?" Hermaeus asked, voice soft, almost too soft to hear.

"Because that means your work is done," Miraak stated, a certain triumph in his voice. "When the world ends, there will be no more secrets left to claim. You will have finished your library."

"Be careful...Miraak..." the daedra said ominously, "in what you so mistakenly believe... Your words carry anger... It has been a long time since you acted as such in my presence."

"Indeed," Miraak nearly snapped. "But you know that I am not blind. My chains to this world have altered me forever, Master, but now it is worse. I find myself growing weaker with each moment. I do not understand it, but I have never before collapsed into such dark nightmares, full of the knowledge of this place." He folded his arms. "If I am fading away, I have nothing more to fear."

"If you fade away," Mora said. "It will be of your own volition, Miraak...I cannot give you the will...to withstand the power of my realm."

Miraak shook his head. "You do not care if I live or die," he stated. "As long as I carry out your will to my last breath."

"Such beliefs will serve you ill," Mora stated in a heavier tone. "My intentions were to allow you to perform an errand...but your attitude is hardly encouraging for me give such an order."

Miraak straightened himself fully. "In Tamriel?"

"Yes."

The dragonborn gritted his teeth. "I am sorry, my lord, for my irritation. As I said, I have not been feeling whole, and I have been plagued by the darkness in my dreams... What errand do you wish me to carry out?" He silently hoped his apology had soothed any anger he may have caused.

"I am hesitant to give it," the daedra responded. "However...perhaps a task will remind you of the importance of your effort."

"Thank you, Master," Miraak stated. He was surprised at how easily those words came.

 _I have been far more manipulated than I can understand._

* * *

Firelight illuminated the tent, a warm brazier flickering shadows on the canvas. The silhouettes of the figures were gathered around the table, their voices low and uncertain. Before the group, on a table, was a small map, precisely marked up in different areas. They talked, at length, about the direction and usefulness of their decisions, with their words echoing misery and unease.

After a while, the discussions faded. The men drifted away from the table, moving off to their respective sleeping areas.

One stayed behind. Eventually, however, he too moved from the table. But instead of heading to his cot for sleep, he made for the entrance flap. Outside, in the bitter cold, rows upon rows of tents marked the foothold of the mountain passage. Snow drifted down from the sky, gently brushing the land in white. While such weather was a common occurrence here, the man was displeased by it. The condensation did not bode well for his army, nor his mood.

He moved forward into the labyrinth of white-dusted canvas, sleeping men, and firelight, alone, walking through the camp with slow, measured steps. After a while, he found himself beyond the fires, beyond the tents, and even beyond the night sentries, deep in thought about the upcoming battles and the undeniably powerful foes on the other side. He could only hope that his efforts would pay off, that all was not in vain, that he would not fail.

When he was alone, staring at the stars above, and far from the last tent in the outer reaches of the large encampment, he heard the gentle sound of footsteps approaching him.

"General Reman," the person greeted formally.

Reman turned to the man, confusion filling his brow. "How did...? You aren't a soldier...that outfit is bizarre. Who are you?"

"I'm an old man," Miraak said. "Though my current predicament may suggest that I am not a wise one."

"What?" Reman asked in confusion. The general collected himself. "What is your name?"

"I... My name is Miraak," the other replied. "Once, I faced a great adversary, as you do now."

"You have advice on this adversary?" Reman asked.

"Not just simple advice," Miraak corrected. "I have answers. More specifically, an answer to a question that has plagued your thoughts for too long. Tell me, Reman, the Voice comes to you naturally? As if you are born for its power? Easier for you perhaps, than other Tongues?"

"I...well...yes," Reman said. "But how could you know that?"

"Because you are dragonborn," Miraak said. "You must realize this." He felt a swell of dark emotion in his gut, knowing that this man was a part of his legacy.

He would never even know it.

 _At least I am not doing this for Hermaeus Mora,_ he thought.

For a long moment, there was no response. Time passed silently, and Reman turned away, striding forward a few steps in the snow. "I have had my suspicions for some time," responded the man quietly, lifting his gaze to the sky. "But...I cannot take such a title, not in a time like this, and not in such a manner."

"Now is the ideal time," Miraak said. "Within three weeks, you will have routed the invaders, cutting off their supply lines." At that, Reman turned sharply, his face growing confused as Miraak continued. "And you will conquer their hordes. However, not only will you defeat them...but they will recognize you as dragonborn. They will bow to you."

"I do not want to be served... If you are speaking the truth…" Reman said, shaking his head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you will be given an opportunity," Miraak said. "One that you will understand when the time comes. Dragonborn exist to bring order to chaos. Take from that what you will."

Reman replied in realization, " _You_ are dragonborn."

Miraak said nothing.

"If so, where have you been during this war!" The general went on, "Mankind needs such warriors, now more than ever."

"Mankind needs order," Miraak responded. "It has always been this way…. And if it were my decision, I would be here, fighting for that order. I have my own battles to face, though, dragonborn - ones that do not involve you... Dovahkiin. That is the word in the ancient dragon language. Know that you can begin to tame the chaos as you were meant to." He turned and began to walk away.

"Wait," Reman said. "How do you know the invaders will surrender?"

"Because you are the one they search for," Miraak responded, disappearing into the darkness.

 _Dragonborn._

* * *

The night sky rushed by, the stars blurring overhead. The chill was lost on Miraak. Though the icy air whipped through his robes, glancing off of him, he felt nothing but an increasing numbness in his body. He hunkered down against Sahrotaar's neck, clinging onto the dovah as if he were a lifeline. He could feel the shakiness in his arms, a sensation that was rather alarming. He felt his body strain, and he knew he was pushing his limits.

Under his mask, he winced, fire filling his chest, the first physical sensation he'd had in a while that was beyond exhaustion. The agony intensified uncomfortably. He braced himself on the dragon, feeling his vision darken, threatening to black out. For a moment, he waited, feeling his own balance fading. He gritted his teeth, anger seizing him. He despised the way he felt.

Eventually, the dizziness waned, and he found himself able to concentrate again.

"Miraak-Thuri," Sahrotaar spoke loudly to be heard over the rushing wind. "What is the problem?" He must have sensed something was off with his thuri, probably through their shared connection.

"I am pushing my limits, Sahrotaar. I have been in Tamriel for far too long." The dragonborn gritted his teeth. "It is becoming hard to focus. I feel myself fading."

"Perhaps this should wait."

"No," Miraak said. "Hermaeus Mora may not give me another opportunity. I must use this one. I will not fade away so easily. I refuse to."

Sahrotaar silently put more speed into his momentum, shooting through the skies of Keizaal like an arrow launched from a taught bow. "We are nearly there, Thuri."

"Good." Miraak whispered, closing his eyes. _Good._ The wind roared in Miraak's ears as they journeyed through the night. He focused on it, trying to keep himself from losing his consciousness.

At the end of their journey, they glided down from the skies towards the frosty peak of a mountain. Here, the snow glowed brightly enough in the moonlight to reveal the dark shape of another dragon coiled on a small wall. Sahrotaar landed, and the ground shivered. Miraak felt a jolt run through him. The serpentine dragon moved forward a few steps in the snow, raising his gaze to the other of his immortal race, who was roused by the approach.

"Drem yol lok, Sahrotaar," came the words from the other dovah, his voice rumbling like thunder.

"Drem yol lok, Paarthurnax," Sahrotaar replied in greeting.

Miraak slid from the dragon's neck, stumbling forward a few steps.

"Who have you brought to my strunmah?" Paarthurnax questioned, curious gaze turning to the man.

"Surely you have not forgotten me," Miraak said. He winced, gaining his balance and looking up at the shape of the dovah perched on the weathered wall a few feet away. Miraak recognized it as a wall of tribute that the men from his time period had liked to build to commemorate others. Whatever had been written on this wall though, was illegible through time and exposure to the harsh elements of Skyrim.

Miraak pulled his thoughts from that and said, "the last time we spoke, however, was over a thousand years ago."

"I know this scent," Paarthurnax stated, breathing deeply. "Dovah-sos. Diist-dovahkiin. Miraak."

"Yes."

"I had heard that you were in Oblivion. I did not expect you."

"I am here, because I am desperate," Miraak stated, striding forward through the snow to stare into the old dragon's gaze. Slowly, he lifted a hand to his mask, pulling it from his face. He felt a shudder run through him at the loss of the power, but he hoped the gesture would not be lost on the ancient being before him. "I have come to the conclusion that I have nothing more to lose, but my life. However, my life is meaningless if it belongs to another…" He grimaced. "I will not take the imprisonment that has befallen me silently. I will not spend eternity being nothing more than a pawn!"

"Yet, you feel you have no choice," Paarthurnax observed.

"I do," Miraak argued. "I must!"

"You have come to me, Miraak, because you feel lost. Because you know that you are losing yourself."

"I…" The dragonborn trailed off and cursed silently. Yes, it was true. He was hopeless, desperate. He needed a chance. A sign that he could escape his master. "Alduin will return," he stated calmly after a moment. "No one can stand up to his power, but myself. I am the only one who remembers him... I am the only one who can destroy him for good."

"Is that what the world needs though?" Paarthurnax asked rhetorically. "It is wise to question dez - to question destiny? Do we need a _joor_ who is no longer mortal? Who remembers the frightening devourer-of-worlds? Who has been out of touch with this world for so long...? Or will fate choose another? One who will not be held back by fear, by knowledge... We cannot know for certain, Miraak..."

"I am not afraid of Alduin... And fate will choose another only because I am trapped!" Miraak almost shouted his words. "Because I was tricked, blinded, and fooled! I am a fool, I know that...but I require another chance. This world deserves another chance."

"Does it?" Paarthurnax questioned gently. "Who are we to know what this world does or does not deserve?"

"You told me yourself that it was time for the dragons' end," Miraak snarled. He felt his head swim, and his legs collapsed. He sat in the snow, feeling weak, feeling pathetic. Irritated, he spat, "I am running out of time..." He exhaled sharply. "You may be right, though, in a way," he laughed without mirth. "Perhaps we do not decide this world's fate, but if you have something to offer me, some way to aid me, then it is destiny that I know it. If you withhold it, then you are deciding fate...and that is most unwise, by your own admission..."

The old dragon gazed down on Miraak keenly, a contemplative silence befalling him. He adjusted his wings, stepping down from the broken tribute wall. He stood before and above the dragonborn, but never was his posture condescending, like so many dragons that had stood before the man.

Miraak felt his strength fading even faster now. He struggled against the pull to return to Apocrypha, refusing to leave Tamriel until he had an answer, a chance...until he had hope.

"I need your wisdom," he said, almost pleadingly.

And Paarthurnax once again took pity upon mankind, as he'd done so long ago. He knew his words might decrease the chance of Alduin's return being successful, that he might indirectly save the world from the firstborn's wrath, but he was unsure if that was the right course of action.

He hoped that his words would not alter fate for the worse, that this was the best decision.

"Miraak." He stated, voice quiet. "I cannot help you, but you may be able to help yourself…. You have the answer before you. Know that the deal you made with your master is still binding for him as well. What were the terms?"

"I would serve him until death…" Miraak rasped. "In return, I would have all the power of the thu'um."

"The answer lies before you, then," Paarthurnax exhaled, his warm breath flowing over the dragonborn. "You must drive your side of the bargain. If there is hope for your freedom, it'll be in the words of my kind...in the dragon shout. I am certain that the daedra will have withheld true mastery of the thu'um from you, for that is a dragon's greatest power... He will not wish this power unto you... And not its full potential."

Miraak opened his mouth, but he could not speak. How simple this truth was. How he should have seen that the bargain could be pushed from his own side. Yes. This was the opening he'd needed. The chance he'd sought. If there'd been any doubts to his foolishness before, there were none now. It'd taken this old dragon to make him see, but he did not care. At least he had hope.

His vision pulsed, and darkness filled his thoughts. He slumped forward, his last sensation was of hitting the snow, only to be surprised that he could not feel how cold it was.

* * *

.

* * *

 **Dovahzul translations -**

 _Drem yol lok - Peace fire sky. (A greeting).  
Strunmah - mountain  
Dovah-sos - Dragon-blood  
Diist-Dovahkiin - First-Dragonborn_  
 _Dez - destiny_  
 _Joor - mortal_

* * *

 _._

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- The Reman cameo was based entirely off of my wiki research. If I failed it in any way, I apologize. My knowledge of Elder Scrolls lore isn't the best, which may or may not be apparent. I do try to research things thoroughly before writing about them, though._

 _Thanks to all who are reviewing! I appreciate the feedback. :)_


	34. Missing Memories

~D~

XXXIV. Missing Memories

(Nusaan Vahruktte)

Miraak rose from the ground slowly. He felt like he were emerging from a deep, black ocean, tired and aching. He shook his head, momentarily overcome by dizziness. His eyes steadily adjusted to the darkness of Apocrypha, and he blinked them slowly, observing the familiar dull world. Waking up was worse this time; he noted a dull ache settling firmly in his chest. The pain gave no indication of leaving, even as he stepped forward, breathing slowly and deeply. He winced, shaking his head, his sight wavering.

Knowing he needed to reacquaint himself with this plane of Oblivion, he locked his eyes upon the books nearby, trying to bring his focus to them. He stared uncomprehendingly at the various blacks, browns, and grays of their covers. He stepped forward, the worrying pain never leaving him, as if it were trying to warn him of something, but he did not know what that something was. He seized a book at random and opened it, the words glaring up at him in smudged, dark ink. They twisted in his mind, finally forming something semi-coherent. He found himself losing focus again though, the darkness bleeding across his eyes in a strange way.

He tried to comprehend it, but it felt as if he were trying to hold down a dragon. It snarled inside of him. _What are you doing?_ It growled, teeth bared savagely. He wiped the image away, pushing all of his willpower into concentrating on the writing that lay in his hands.

 _The nature of...of..._ of what? Miraak squinted at the text, re-reading the line. _The...the..._ it was incoherent. But what was it? What did it say? Jumping ahead, tracing back, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Nothing worked. The words had taken on a meaningless form to him, and he could not recognize them.

 _I cannot read,_ he thought bitterly. The pain in his chest intensified. He coughed, the book dropping from his fingers to thud on the floor. He blinked, staring at the floor, the spike of agony receding. He kicked the book, a surge of poisonous anger knotting in his stomach. Was this his reward for being a good, obedient servant?

Also, wasn't there something he needed to talk to Hermaeus Mora about?

He began walking, even though he had no destination in mind. Where could he go in Apocrypha, anyway? The landscapes were always changing, and no place stayed the same. The only thing that mattered, was that he was no longer standing still. To move was a glorious sensation. However, this good feeling was marred by the inexplicable pain inside him, and to think of almost nothing, wandering aimlessly, he was troubled by the feeling that he lacked purpose.

 _And that is my fate now. To wander in circles, following nothing._

It seemed wrong, unfair.

 _I will fade away…_ _Become nothing…_ _Become no one…._

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something... _important_ had happened recently, something that had given him... _purpose_. Something that had given him hope. He'd gained that something, and no matter how he tried to remember what it was, it eluded him. It must have been some form of knowledge.

Frustrated, he increased his pace. He wanted to run, and so he did. He broke his walk. He put on speed. His feet reached out, but it was not enough. He needed wings. He needed the power of gods. He needed a memory, one he could not place. The twisting corridors lead to nowhere. Thousands of books he could have been reading raced by him. Seas rolled by the sides of steel bridges and cold lights. Beings of hair, tentacles, eyes, claws, fangs, webs, talons, pincers, and so many other creature-like anatomies seemed to be a blur as he chose first one path, then another, completely at random. He ignored them and pressed on, knowing that years passed as he did so. Minutes, hours, days - all were meaningless. His body felt no fatigue, but was weak. He needed no food, but there was a mocking inner pain. There was no thirst, but his voice still felt raw whenever he tried to speak, to shout and scream or even whisper.

When so much, too much, had passed him by, he stopped running. There was the faintest whisper of noise somewhere in the distance ahead of him. He focused upon it, curious. He reached a corridor that meandered lazily by the green ocean. Walking now, he moved down the gleaming, metal steps, following a cold hiss of what sounded like pain and despair. He felt he had heard such noises before, but he could not remember when or where.

Focusing upon this odd occurrence with sheer curiosity, he moved over a floor carpeted in loose pages seemingly torn from books. He heard it clearly now, but he could see little in the darkness of the corridor. Pained sounds, like the noises of a dying creature, filled the air. Through the dimness, he could just make out something lying upon the floor here. It was shuddering in what seemed to be intense torment. He flicked his hand, and a conjured light provided the amount of luminance required to see what was before him.

The first thing he noted was that this creature seemed to have been a human once, a woman. Dark fur-like bushes of hair had sprouted from the robes of her back, trembling with each ragged inhale she made. Her hands, sprawled as they were upon the icy floor, were shaped into claws, and were missing two fingers. Her skin was a distinctly deep-green color, a shade that had become awfully familiar to Miraak.

She shivered and groaned at his approach. He paused beside her, watching on with both fascination and mild awe. Perhaps even the faintest twinges of terror welled up inside of him too, to think of what it would be like if their positions were reversed.

The creature's head turned, and he started. She had a deformed face. A layer of fleshy tentacles sat where the mouth had once been. Her nose was mutated, scrunched up. The narrow slits where eyes should have been contained two purely black orbs, and they seemed to lock emptily upon Miraak.

The dragonborn stepped back a little, despite his curiosity.

 _It looks like a Seeker...could it be...?_

He scowled behind his mask. He'd found people searching his master's library before, of course, sometimes for years, and even centuries, without end. Many of them had shown odd mutations and had turned into either Seekers, or the towering, fish monsters. However, he'd never seen any of them that appeared much like a Seeker while still retaining many of its human traits - one so caught in between. Perhaps some of Hermaeus Mora's Seekers were not successfully mutated? Or perhaps this woman was resisting it, trying to hold onto her humanity? If so, that was odd; Miraak had never noticed any resistance in those who changed, as if they didn't even know they were changing.

Miraak guided the small, bobbing light he'd made to see her better.

She exhaled a long, hissing, gasping noise, as though trying to make speech. Her face shuddered in what looked like intense discomfort. " _I...know...this...presence..."_ she gargled, faint voice almost indiscernible.

"You can speak?" Miraak asked in incredulity.

 _"A...memory..."_ She coughed, shivering in pain. " _So long...since_..." Her voice gargled noisily, trailing off. For a long time, she said no more, as if her energy had drained.

Then, she spoke a single, strangely-clear word, " _Ring_."

Her face lowered again to the floor, moaning miserably. _"I sense the ring..."_

"Ring?" Miraak whispered. Involuntarily, he raised his hand, the glimmering item that had lead him to Apocrypha that first time so long ago shining faintly on his finger in its green hues. The creature raised her face to look at it, black eyes wide and alien. An odd, gasping chuckle escaped her that sounded more like the cough of a plague victim than an actual laugh.

" _Miraak..._ " she said, closing her black eyes.

His head was starting to ache again. A memory seemed to be fluttering at him, but it was impossible to grasp. The agitation in him increased. He could not remember what he needed to. Abruptly, the ache in his chest became overwhelming. The pain stabbed him, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for a moment.

Miraak inhaled sharply, trying to ignore his discomfort as he knelt there. "You...know...my name?"

" _Yes...so long_... _since...words_..." she rasped. " _Fear...fearful of that fear_... _I was afraid._ "

"What?" he demanded, overcoming his own pain. His throat was suddenly dry, his words hardly commanding. "Speak sense!"

Her black eyes opened and fixed upon him, eerie in the brightness of his magickal lighting. " _Allegiance guide._.." She whispered. He felt a mixture of surprise and horror when she continued.

" _Replace the cold...dying light_..."

 _No._ Miraak felt the word in his mind, but he could not speak it.

"... _Save us...with warm white_..."

 _Impossible,_ He thought. He felt the horror, the black sensation of venomous emotion in his veins.

"... _Give us...a chance...to see_... " she gasped, coughing, recalling the ancient words. "... _the old world that thrives where new should spring... Take heart_ …"

Miraak went cold as the verse finished, but he chorused it with her automatically.

"... _That...world...will...cease...to...be_..."

Now he knew what it was. That memory. That moment. He understood. She was...

"Mother," he said.

" _Yes..."_ she rasped, blank eyes falling closed again.

"H-how?" He exclaimed, feeling his thoughts tremble at such a truth. It'd been too long since he'd seen her - he could not believe himself. "How is this possible!? How could...how could you...?" He trailed off, remembering that Vahlok had said she also served Hermaeus Mora. " _Why_ didn't you tell me!?" He snarled. "Why didn't you tell the truth of the verse? Why did you hide it...?" He shook his head. Yes. He'd been young then, but... He shook his head, trailing off such thoughts. How could he have known what Hermaeus Mora truly was? He would not have realized what a monster the Daedra Lord was until it was too late.

Like now.

"Why didn't you stay?" He finally sighed, settling into a sitting position.

" _Because Master didn't want that!_ " she snapped, voice cracking, her words a faster pace than before. " _He didn't want you to know that he has always been guiding us_!"

"Guiding? _Guiding_?!" Miraak repeated incredulously. His gut twisted in disgust. "Never. He has only _controlled_."

" _Yes_ ," she nodded in agreement. " _But above all else,_ _he was_ waiting," she hissed. " _He waited for the dragonborn... The allegiance-guide. The first. Those words, the verse, were to remind me. I would pass them on to my child, he commanded... He wanted that child...you...and so he has gained you..._ _What could I do? He sees the possibilities that we cannot...he knows...what we do not. And from the moment you breathed life...he knew it was you...he knew_..." She exhaled, voice dying away in heavy coughs.

Her next words chilled Miraak for reasons he did not understand. "... _A_ _nd...he was right._ "

"Why?" He asked. "Why did he truly want me?"

" _Dragonborn_... _the one who would alter fate..._ _You...you were_ _a hidden weapon against the strayed dragons_! _You were the Aedra's_ greatest _secret!_ " She exclaimed, eyes flying open to glare at him as if he were being an idiot for not seeing this truth. " _And all secrets belong to our master, my son, as well as_ _those who seek such secrets_... _those like me_." She squeezed her eyes shut, coughing violently. "... _but I have lost the will to maintain my identity, even as I fight it...he will have my soul...and yours...one day, too_..."

Miraak stared at her from where he sat, unable to choke down the irony and anger he acknowledged. _That monster,_ he thought. _Hermaeus Mora._ He was surprised to feel his pain fading away in the face of his awakening rage.

He was equally surprised to see the tears sliding down her face. " _I'm sorry_ ," she murmured. " _I'm sorry that there is no escape from destiny...or from its master.._."

"Do not apologize," he told her calmly, scooting closer to her. He pulled her to him, and she let out a sigh, as if she might be ready to fall asleep in his arms. "I have had much foolishness myself," he continued.

She looked up into his eyes, completely limp, probably unable to move. "... _Seeker... Tovitaan... Little Tovitaa..."_ She echoed. _"Your sister... I named her that because of what_ I _was...what I thought she might become, just as I named you of what you could become... Did she find Apocrypha, Miraak?...Is she lost...too_?"

"No," Miraak said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "She never wanted that. She was not so foolish as you or I." He drew the weapon. He locked onto her empty eyes.

" _Good_..."

"If I believe anything now, it is that fate is not so unwavering as I once thought," Miraak said, raising the dull-green blade. "Or perhaps I just do not know it. Either way, your soul does not belong to Hermaeus Mora. I will not allow that." He plunged the weapon into her chest, watching dark crimson blossom under the blade. "And now I will free you of him..."

" _It...it doesn't hurt anymore_ ," she whispered, closing her eyes. " _I always thought... I mean..._ _Thank you_..." It sounded like she would smile, if she still had a face that could perform such an action.

He promised softly, "Hermaeus Mora will not have my soul, either."

" _My son_ ," she said in a soft tone. " _You truly believe fate is so easy to escape_? _I am sorry_... _but even you know that a sword in the heart is the only way to escape... Your life...belongs...to him..."_

He stilled.

Her skin turned from dark green to a more human color. The Seeker-like hair seemed to evaporate, and dark, flowing hair waved from her skull. Her face changed as well, her lips twisted in a faint smile. Her eyes cleared, no longer deep black, but human. They closed, glittering with tears unshed. Her flesh started to dissolve, fading. It was as if she were drifting away. It wasn't long before her body disappeared completely.

"Farewell."

Death had finally claimed her. There was a certain peacefulness to it, he acknowledged, despite a new ache lingering in his heart. Hermaeus Mora could not reach her in the afterlife, and that was good enough for him. For a while, he sat, wondering if she and Vahlok and Tovitaa would meet in _Sovngarde_ , as the Nordic people called it, and reconcile with each other. It burned to realize he might never make it there.

He sheathed his sword and closed his now-empty hands. He stood, his thoughts shaken by emotions. He spun on his heel and stormed away. Once again, he was running, trying to remember something. It was something that he needed to know, something he'd been trying to recall when he'd found his mother.

That was when, with a jolt, he realized he could not recollect much of anything. He had a name in his head. His own. He had a title. Dragonborn. He had killed dragons. _What else?_ He'd been...searching...seeking… _Knowledge._ But what knowledge? He shook his head in frustration. How much time had passed? Why couldn't he think of anything?

 _Maybe she was right. Maybe I will be trapped here for an eternity. My willpower is being completely smothered. Every time I quit thinking about my past, it slips away. It gets harder each time to summon it to mind. When I quit thinking, it's hard to start again. If I cannot stop it, then I will become a Seeker._ Looking down, he could almost imagine his hands as the long spindly claws of those wretched beasts.

He slowed himself, heart pounding, struggling to keep the panic down. He hated that feeling. He had not been a man of fear before, when he'd conquered a dragon priest to earn his rank, or when he'd slaughtered his first dragon and many of its brethren. He'd known his power with certainty. He'd not identified with fear. This place had altered him forever, he knew.

He climbed a set of stairs and found himself outside of the darkened corridors. He was standing on a ledge overlooking the green oceans. He calmed himself. He knew he could shout, even if his voice was weak.

"Gol hah dov," he whispered, manipulating the world's energies. He felt, for some reason, that his master would not like this, but he cared little for Hermaeus Mora's opinion at the moment.

When he had an open portal before him, he shouted, "SAH ROT AAR!"

He waited awhile until the dragon entered Apocrypha, landing beside him. Sahrotaar twisted around to peer at him. Miraak could sense his confusion.

"Yes, Thuri? What is the matter? Why did you not speak through our connection? You know the risk of calling me here."

"I...connection?" Miraak shook his head, suddenly realizing. "I...see..." He was troubled. How much else had he lost? "I've been unable to think straight, much less conjure up such a memory." Miraak focused on the bewildered dragon, the presence of the dovah stirring faint but familiar feelings. "I need to find something," he told Sahrotaar cautiously, straining his memory to something he _did_ vaguely remember. Something he knew might help him. "A tall tower, rising into the sky.."

"I...do not understand, Thuri," the dragon responded hesitantly.

"I do not have the wings to reach it myself, or I would not need you. Take me there," Miraak said quickly. "Take me to that tower, Sahrotaar."

The dragon bowed his head obediently, and Miraak could feel waves of confusion coming from the dragon. Yes, _connection._ He'd forgotten that he had made the silent connection to the dragon, but now it made sense. Miraak climbed upon the serpentine dragon's neck, settling in the crook of the webbing. The familiarity of the action brought a sense of calmness to him.

 _I remember… I remember something about the tower... Mundus...and knowledge... What was it?_

The dragon rose into the air, his wings propelling him forward. The green waters of Apocrypha were far below, and the height returned a sense of certainty to Miraak. He felt the tremors within the dragon with each beat of his wings. He could hear the dovah's deep heartbeats, far slower than his own. He blinked his eyes, and quite soon, the tower was before them.

"The Summit of Apocrypha," Miraak said in recognition.

"What is this tower, Thuri?" Sahrotaar asked.

"The entry of knowledge, I was told a long time ago. It is the...closest part of Apocrypha, in a sense...to Tamriel. I hope it will clear my thoughts. Land upon the top."

The dragon swept up, rising higher in the currentless, stale air of the world. The sky was filled with the fluttering of books and pages, swirling amidst each other in a great, parchment storm. The light of the foggy sky seemed dim, and yet brighter here than anywhere else.

Miraak found it easier to breath. The suffocating-feeling had evaporated. In its wake, he berated his foolishness, _I let myself slip… I cannot afford to keep doing that…_

He now knew the price of lingering in Tamriel for too long.

Sahrotaar glided down, landing upon the metal plates and page-covered floor. It was a large space, with three arches at separate ends. Dark green water gathered on the sides and plummeted off into nothingness below. The middle had a raised section with a pool of the slime.

Miraak slipped to the ground, moving forward until he reached the center of the tower's peak. His memory finally returned to him in full.

"Master," he called. He waited, his gaze flicking to the gray-blue dragon waiting nearby. The dovah still seemed bemused.

Not long after the uttered word, the Daedra Lord showed itself. The familiar apparition of Hermaeus Mora appeared in the desolate sky above them - a large eyeball with several smaller eyes to accompany it and a mass of tentacles spreading out.

"What do you seek this time, my champion?" the daedra asked lazily.

"I found my mother," he started, feeling this subject needed to be brought up, even if he now had something else to discuss. "She is no longer yours. I ended her undying servitude to you."

"I know," Hermaeus responded in a thoughtful tone. "But there are many Seekers, Miraak, and many who still have their minds...all who answer to me... I do not regret the loss of one...when there are so many..."

Miraak gritted his teeth. "Such as myself, I would guess."

"Indeed."

He swallowed, nodding to himself a little. He grabbed the ring upon his hand, pulling it off. "This, you gave to her?" He demanded, raising it into the air. "You ensured I would find you." This last part wasn't a question.

"And that, in turn, gave you what you had been seeking, Miraak," Hermaeus responded. "Knowledge, power...and so very much more - a purpose...a destiny."

"Knowledge, power...destiny," Miraak whispered, seeing the opening to broach the other subject he'd been meaning to discuss with the Daedric Prince. "I remember our deal." He clenched his jaw, finding the other's gaze narrowed at him strangely, as if this being were trying to measure him, as if it saw something in his own actions, that even he could not. Pushing away the creeping worry in his gut, Miraak continued. "You said all of the knowledge and power of the thu'um would me mine, Master. I must learn it all, even the most weakest words and phrases, and also the strongest and most deadly ones. It is my right."

"You...have...learned much," Hermaeus said ponderously.

Perhaps Miraak imagined it, but he felt the air thicken, becoming heavy. "But not all."

"No," the other agreed.

Miraak almost grinned, but he bit it back. Even with his mask, he did not trust his emotions to be hidden at the moment unless he made a conscious effort to. "Then you must show me what remains."

The atmosphere changed in an instant, darkening, becoming thicker. Miraak felt like he were drowning from the heaviness, and the pain that had been chased away before returned. He winced, and the blackness in his thoughts increased. He doubled, coughing, feeling like his chest were being compressed. He struggled to gain his breath, certain he was being strangled somehow. He could almost imagine dark tentacles surrounding him, throttling him, but he knew he was that much closer to a victory. He knew that the crushing anger, that poisonous hatred he sensed, could only mean one thing.

He was doing something that Hermaeus Mora did not want him to.

"It is mine," he choked, refusing to back down.

"You are... _correct_..." the daedra said after a few more moments. Miraak felt the darkness and crushing pressure recede slightly, and he breathed more easily. The ache in his body faded. "Be warned, my champion," Hermaeus continued. "This path is not a path to tread lightly. This final stage of the thu'um will allow you full mastery, but by committing yourself to this, you will face all of its difficulties. And as you have used your part in our deal..do remember that you still belong to me, as my servant."

"I shall keep that in mind," Miraak said, a certain triumph entering his voice, unable to stop the way the dragon in him reared, flapping its wings victoriously.

"Then...it shall be yours... However, there is another matter to attend to first - the dragon you have let into my realm, once again." Mora's eyes turned to Sahrotaar.

"I came to my Thuri's call," the dragon said without regret, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"My servant has disobeyed me by bringing you here," Hermaeus replied.

Miraak blinked, knowing that he did not have a good reason for what he'd done, except temporary memory loss. However, he could think of no good way to explain it. "I am sorry, Master," he said, unable to stop thinking of the power that would be his. _The power of the thu'um will give me t-_

"You must receive punishment," Hermaeus continued slowly, interrupting his thoughts. "The next one thousand years will pass before I allow you to return to Mundus, Miraak... Your dragon will stay with you," the being concluded. "I will not allow you to have any connection to that world, until then. You will not be so careless again."

Miraak exhaled quietly. What did it matter? Time had no meaning for him anymore. Besides, he was about to receive something great. "Yes, Master."

"As for your final training in the thu'um. You may start by reading this book."

The book appeared, resting upon a small altar before him. Miraak narrowed his eyes. He approached it, laying his hand upon its cover.

"Remember my words, as you learn, Champion," Hermaeus said, fading from view.

As his presence withdrew, Miraak felt the air become considerably easier to breath. He exhaled a pent-up breath.

"I fear what will happen to the others without me being there," Sahrotaar said. "Dovah are not always patient, despite the fact that we are immortal. They may even go their own ways, now."

"They will have to wait," Miraak said, opening the tome. "There will be plenty of time, Sahrotaar, to reverse the damage."

The serpentine bowed his head, accepting that his overlord was far too preoccupied with this new edge he seemed to have gained to understand the consequences that could befall due to the punishment he'd incurred. But perhaps the dragonborn was right. Perhaps this knowledge would give him what he'd sought, and then they'd gain an opportunity to fix any problems that arose.

The dragon turned his gaze to the sky, wondering what a thousand years in this place would mean for them.

* * *

.

* * *

 **Dovahzul Translations** - _Nothing new to add._

* * *

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ \- _Due to the fact that I became dissatisfied with my earlier plans for my story from here on out, I have re-outlined it. A lot of my original drafts for later chapters are nearly useless. This is part of the reason for the now-slower updates..._

 _Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'd love to hear what you thought of it!_


	35. His Honor

XXXV. His Honor

(Ok Zin)

As time passed, Miraak worked on his understanding of the thu'um, and while that was his primary objective, he found that his thoughts were often filled with the memory of a single person. He could not, and would not, forget this person. And in that moment, his thoughts were of her again, of the memory of her. Zin. The regret he often felt in the wake of these memories tried to distract him from his task.

 _I was never able to keep my promise to her,_ he thought. _To rule an empire..._ He mentally trailed off and let out a heavy sigh.

Miraak knew that if he could fall asleep, his dreams would be of her, but he found that he never truly slept anymore. Instead, he fell into a state that could only be described as a trance. It was a state in which he rested, but he had full control of his own mind. He also realized he could use this ability to create a library in his head to rival Hermaeus Mora's own. He assumed this was a strange side effect of his increased lifespan, one that could last forever now.

Also, he had grown much stronger by gradually learning to conquer the darkness in his own mind - the one he associated with Apocrypha, the one that had altered him forever. He had increased his own willpower.

His new sentence of being confined to Apocrypha for a thousand years had started, of course, with Hermaeus Mora's supreme reluctance to teach him anything - reluctance that had been masked with his usual, utterly-bored voice. Miraak had not been fooled. His master had not wanted to share the fullest, inherent understanding of the thu'um. That much had been apparent. However, the deal that had been struck long hadn't allowed the Daedra Lord room to disagree, and so he started out by sharing words of powers, and concepts that the first dragonborn had not known about before.

When finished, "This is all that I can gift you," his master had said, voice quiet.

Miraak had been rather baffled, for none of those new words were very promising. Some of the concepts he could not begin to understand. "I don't... I do not feel as though I have gained any power, Master."

"It'll take time to...sink in," the response had come, too uninterested to care. "Time...is always required...to understand all that you have learned. You will need to meditate upon it, for...however long it takes you. Use what time I have given you..."

Miraak had taken Mora's advice, spending his time meditating on the Words - something that he could do even when he slept. Fortunately, it'd been worth it. Now, he could easily control the strength of his thoughts, even in the drowning atmosphere of Apocrypha. He no longer felt confused or frightened, but confident.

Shaking his intruding thoughts away, he pulled the thu'um to himself, methodically examining the rotmulaag in them. Once again, he mentally picked apart each Word of Power, analyzing it, increasing his understanding of it. It helped that such techniques in concentration were much like those he'd learned from his short time with the Dwemer. When he completed this new round of meditation, not knowing how much _more_ time had passed, he found that the sentence and phrase structures of the language were different than he'd first assumed. He now understood that the language was more versatile than he'd realized.

 _Strange._

Miraak drained his thoughts from his mind like pouring water from a basin. He stood from the ground of the Summit of Apocrypha. For some reason, he found it easiest to concentrate here. Perhaps it was because of what Hermaeus had told him so long ago, that it was closest to Tamriel.

He thought of the other who was also trapped in Apocrypha along with him. Despite limiting distractions from outside sources and his own mind, he found that Sahrotaar had often approached him during his meditation. Miraak had sent him away on each occasion, until the dragon had finally given up and left him undisturbed - under his overlord's strict, and somewhat annoyed, direction. Now, however, he had need of his faithful dovah companion. Miraak used the mental link between them to locate the dragon within the world, a habit he'd also formed; it was strangely comforting to know that the dovah was always nearby, ready to serve. Not that he needed any form of comfort, but he could not deny that it gave him more confidence.

 _Sahrotaar,_ he spoke through the connection to the dragon.

 _Yes, Thuri?_

Miraak could sense that the dragon was alert. _How much time has passed?_

 _Five centuries and twelve years,_ Sahrotaar responded.

Miraak pulled his thoughts back to himself, and refocused. Five centuries was long. He was determined to be done with his training within five more. Within his own mind, he refocused on even the weakest shouts. All of them had a use though, in some way. They were necessary, to increase his understanding of the thu'um. Exhaling, he closed his eyes, pushing away the thoughts that had sent him out of concentration before.

 _I will not quit. I will not fail._

 _Never again._

* * *

Sahrotaar had spoken. Hermaeus had spoken. The world itself had seemed to have spoken to him. Seekers had drifted by too many times to count. Lurkers, as he now understood them to be called, had appeared and studied him before leaving. Dream-like apparitions had flitted by behind his eyelids, filled with words, empty promises and hopes, fleeting memories and distant goals. They carried the weight of the thu'um, but steadily grew lighter, until it felt as if his very soul had morphed into something older than himself from their knowledge.

Time flowed ever onward, but Miraak had finally achieved his goal.

The first indication came to him, in how the words weaved together perfectly in his thoughts. He felt the effortlessness with which he understood them. The range of shouts for him had been opened, and he now had a deeper, intrinsic understanding of the thu'um unlike any other. An understanding that no mortal had gained, and higher than that of some of the dovah. It was a strange sensation for him.

He stood slowly.

Once, there would have been a time when Miraak would have considered a century an improbable length of time to witness. A millenia would have been impossible and unimaginable. He had just lived it several time overs, and he was astounded that he was hardly aware of its passing.

He looked at his hands, "My dovahsil is complete," Miraak mused out loud.

"Yes," Mora's voice echoed. "And, more importantly, my end of the bargain is fulfilled. You have everything you wanted."

 _Not everything._ Miraak curled his hands into fists, an idea bursting forth into his mind - one that had been forming for some time now. "Then it is time for me to return to Tamriel," he stated, feeling a wave of eagerness as the Daedra agreed.

"Yes... But know that you have set a chain of events in motion that even you cannot begin to guess its consequences..." The Lord of Apocrypha disappeared from view, as if he had somewhere more important to focus his energies. "Be cautious in how you proceed," echoed through the realm.

With that, Miraak turned, ignoring the baleful warning. _Sahrotaar,_ he called silently. The dragon could not return to him fast enough, but he found himself desperate to reach Tamriel. What he'd learned would turn the tides for him. There was something he needed to do.

"Sahrotaar," he said when the dragon landed nearby. He gazed up and down at the serpentine. "You are well."

"Time has little meaning to a dovah, even in a place such as this," the dragon said, but Miraak thought he could detect a note of worry in his voice.

"What is the problem?"

"I am concerned that the others may have been felled by hunters, or even Alduin's supporters," admitted the dragon uncertainly. "Time may have little meaning to a dovah, but neither time, nor the world, will wait for _us_."

"Then we go and find them," Miraak said as he spun around, opening a portal without effort.

He shouted the moment he stood upon Skyrim's soil in a thin layer of snow. "Mul Qah Diiv."

Sahrotaar lifted into the air instantly, roaring with glee to see the sun again. He circled in the air multiple times, his wings gliding smoothly in the atmosphere.

Miraak studied the glowing armor surrounding him, his deeper understanding of the thu'um flowing through it. The power he wielded now was unparalleled, he knew. If only he'd had this power once before, back when it would have made him the bane of Alduin, back when the Dragon Order looked down upon him as an unruly boy reaching beyond himself. He knew Zin would be impressed, if she were there.

 _I haven't forgotten_ , he thought. _I can rebuild what I lost. Zin, I will-_

She appeared.

With a simple swirl of color, the woman materialized in the land before him, standing in the cold, white snow. The color solidified, becoming recognizable though she glowed, her form ethereal and insubstantial. She spoke quietly, "It has been a long time, Miraak."

Miraak could do little more than stare. "Zin," the Dragonborn whispered. "How is this possible?" But even as he asked, he knew.

"It was odd. Your power...it... _reached_...into Atherius," she responded. "I came...because I felt it... It felt like you were calling to me...as if you needed me."

"I...I have become...more powerful..." Miraak agreed hesitantly. He narrowed his eyes.

"Where are you?" She asked, folding her arms. "Where have you been? I waited for so long," she whispered. "I suppose it matters no longer."

Miraak stared into her beautiful eyes, glowing with the magicka that gave them form. She closed them, and Miraak remembered how he'd first took her into his arms. He sighed, regret setting a dull ache in his chest. He could say nothing, because he knew that she already knew the truth. There was no reason to speak it aloud, he thought.

He was vaguely aware of the sound of Sahrotaar landing nearby. He could sense the serpentine dragon watching from afar.

"We failed," she said, her voice quiet, opening her eyes with a certain severity. "Alduin lives. The world will burn, and you are now Hermaeus Mora's pawn. I hoped...for so long...to see you again."

Miraak, to his own surprise, felt his throat tighten uncomfortably. "I won't be a prisoner forever," he stated, keeping his voice level, neutral.

"How do you know?" She breathed.

And he knew the truth.

"I don't. Not truly. In spite of that, I will not give up." Miraak shook his head, instantly in control of his emotions. "I apologize, Zin. I always meant to return."

"I know," she said, reaching her hand forward.

Instinctively, he did the same. His solid fingers passed through the power - his power. He pulled his hand back.

"I've always believed in you, Miraak," she said quietly, her voice determined. "And I believe that you still live for a reason." She turned, gazing out across the land. "You need to listen though - something is happening. I do not know what, but all souls in Atherius sense it. Something stirs in the darkness beyond."

"Alduin," Miraak guessed, stepping forward.

She said nothing for awhile. She finally turned. "In truth... I came to tell you that I do not regret what happened. I wanted to make sure you didn't, either."

"The only thing I regret is trusting Hermaeus Mora," Miraak muttered. He exhaled, looking into her glowing eyes. "I will find my purpose again. I will escape him."

"I hope you succeed," she whispered, her words ringing in the air.

"It's not over. I know. I will fulfill what I promised you... We will be together again."

"It's too late for that," She began to fade away, her voice blowing on the gentle breeze to dissipate quietly. "Remember..." It rang out. "The doubts can make you strong, Miraak, if you work through them. Trust me."

Miraak was still for several moment, staring at the spot in which the soul of Zin had stood. The dragon watched him thoughtfully, but did not speak. Miraak spun around and marched towards the dovah. He focused his attention on him, shaking his head slightly.

"Where to?" The dragonborn asked, glad the other did not question what had just happened.

"I believe Skuldafn will be the best place to look," the dragon said, gaze keen. "I did not sit idly by in that Deyra's library. I have good reason to believe that the others may be there."

"So be it. Take me there."

* * *

The violet-crimson dragon curled his tail, a snarl building in his throat. He perched upon a tall arching tower over the ancient and crumbling ruins, his condescending gaze on the dovah below him in what may have been a courtyard at some point in time, but was now too weathered to discern. "I understand that there has been discontentment among you," he said in their respective language. "I will not tolerate it, and neither will our lord, Alduin!"

"Then where is he?" Snarled a frost-colored dragon, rearing his spike covered head. He snorted. "I have not looked upon our lord since the wars! You say that he is simply away! Why have the humans overrun us!? Where is he? Why has he not destroyed the mortals for their petty defiance, General?"

"He is..." The general hesitated. "How dare you!" He snarled. "I should kill you for such insolence! Our lord is where he belongs - devouring the souls of the dead in the world beyond ours! You-" He trailed off, his tirade faltering. He tensed, a shudder of anger running through his body, sending a fierce howl out of his jaws. "I feel it, do you not?" He swung his head to the fiery-crimson dragon standing next to him.

"Miraak has returned, General Odahviing," responded the beast.

"A thousand years has passed." Odahviing raised his wings, teeth bared in vicious rage. "They will be his last. We kill the traitor. For Alduin Thuri! We must hunt him down!"

"Perhaps I can save you the trouble," A voice spoke from above.

A shadow passed over them. The dragons, consumed by their hot debate, now realized they'd not been vigilant. They raised their gazes to the sky, looking to the shape of a dovah hovering in the air, a man sitting astride it.

"Odahviing," Miraak mused at the massive, red dragon. "I've learned much about you... General."

"You will die, for your betrayal," Odahviing snarled.

"Alduin is gone," Miraak retorted. "I betrayed a weak leader, as I'm sure all of you would...if you knew."

There was a shift among the dovah below. They looked to the general. Odahviing growled. "Lord Alduin is the strongest! He may be gone, but not for all eternity, as the mortals hope. He gathers strength for his return...and he will return, and his reign shall be glorious."

"And end in the way it did before?" Miraak asked. At that, the dragons below snarled in indignation. The dragonborn continued, "Remember, mortals cast him out. You and I must remember those days _very_ differently."

"The...Kel...was not expected," Odahviing admitted. "But unimportant. The Elder Scroll will never again be seen by mortals. I have ensured this. It is far beyond your reach, and guarded by a trusted ally. Lord Alduin will return from this setback."

"Ah...so the Tongues used an Elder Scroll," Miraak mused, remembering how he'd read that they'd been dubbed heroes for their incredible defeat of Alduin. He almost snorted at that. He'd been right. They had failed to truly defeat the World-Devourer. Still, they were praised for their _glory?_ Utter nonsense, their _glory_ was a lie, a trick. "That makes sense." He mused aloud. "But how could you possibly know that they used an Elder Scroll? You were not there."

"The traitor Paarthurnax has become quite talkative, for a dragon, though he does not deserved to be called dovah anymore." Odahviing rumbled like he was chuckling. He turned his head to gaze once more at the fiery-red dragon next to him. "Isn't that correct, Frinkiizuth?"

"Indeed, General," Frinkiizuth responded with confidence.

Miraak stared, finally giving this dragon his attention, recognizing the unruly beast of a dovah. "I gave you a chance to prove your loyalty, Frinkiizuth. It appears that you deceived me. How surprising." He mocked. "I should have killed when I last walked upon Nirn. I'll know better, this time."

"Where are the others?" Sahrotaar asked.

"Waiting, ready to watch their precious dragonborn fall," Odahviing said. "They have agreed to return to Alduin upon this mortal's death. You, however...you are beyond redemption, Sahrotaar. You will die too."

"Then I will humiliate you before your blind followers," Miraak said, power surging through his veins. His newfound knowledge and dragon armor made him feel invincible. "Face me."

"Unnecessary. Fight my allies, traitor. You are beneath death by my claws." Miraak could almost roll his eyes at that.

The three dragons below Odahviing raised into the air. One was deep green, and the two others ice-blue.

"Fools. They don't hesitate, even in the face of certain death," Miraak said and shifted. He raised himself, standing upon Sahrotaar's back. The serpentine ducked his head, so that Miraak could look down upon them and have a clear shot.

"All dragons belong to me, now," Miraak stated, balancing himself. "GOL HAH DOV." A wave of golden power fell across the three dragons rising in the air. The dragons froze, hovering below.

"Now, my servants," Miraak addressed them. "The three of you will fight. The one who survives, will have the honor of carrying out a task for me."

The two frost dragons looked at each other for a second before locking claws, taken by the need to destroy. The green dragon fell upon them both, screeching out, "FAH THURI MIRAAK!" The awful sounds of scales splitting under claws, deep howls of agony, and fangs sinking into flesh filled the air as the dragons writhed in the sky, mercilessly battering each other until blood and scales fell through the atmosphere.

"A brutal punishment, Thuri," Sahrotaar observed, his gaze locked on the three below them as if realizing that he could very well be amongst them, had he not chosen Miraak so long ago as his lord instead of Alduin.

"It is no more than they deserve," Miraak responded callously. "Alduin's supporters should flee, or die for their foolishness."

Odahviing watched the dragons with keen eyes, their dark blood raining to the stones of the courtyard before him.

Frinkiizuth roared in anger, lifting into the air. He pushed through the sky with speed, aiming at the traitors.

"Ah, Frinkiizuth, your soul is mine." Miraak said, mostly to himself, his tone smug. Just how stupid was the hot-headed dovah? he wondered vaguely.

The crimson dragon opened his jaws, fire building in his throat.

He was never given the chance to use it.

Miraak called upon the power of the thu'um that he'd gained. "Frinkiizuth, ZII LOS DII DO!"

He felt an incredible surge of euphoria. The dragon went limp, dying instantly. The corpse fell rapidly, spinning through the sky in a wild descent. As it plummeted, the flesh began to burn off its bones, scales glowing and smoking. Miraak pulled the soul into himself, the thoughts, knowledge and memories of this dragon becoming his own. The body crashed into a pillar, sending it falling to the ground. The thud resounded through the old ruins of Skuldafn like thunder. When the dust settled, all that remained were chunks of rubble and the bones of Frinkiizuth.

Odahviing did not move even when Sahrotaar landed slightly below the general not but ten feet away from his perch on a balcony that wrapped around the ancient fortress. The serpentine raised his gaze to the red dragon.

"So it is true, Miraak. I did not believe that you carried such power," Odahviing stated, sounding as if he'd just understood something he'd once doubted. "I do not suppose you will allow me to...live."

"How hard it must have been to say those words," Miraak snorted. "I will allow you to live, Odahviing, if you agree to tell all what has occurred here."

"I will. You have demonstrated your power." Odahviing looked at the three dragons steadily destroying each other in the sky. "Perhaps...perhaps Lord Alduin is not..." He faltered, seemingly unable to form the words and speak them aloud. "Let these dovah go, Dovahkiin."

"Not yet. I will let the one that is left go free," Miraak said. "Now fly away, dragon. If you do not spread word of what has happened here, I will personally hunt you down and devour your soul."

Odahviing looked at Miraak again. "I do not understand. Why would one such as you exist?" He asked, quietly enough that the dragons above nearly drowned out his words. "The world was in its proper order before you arrived, Dovahkiin. Why would the Aedra wish for this pointless fighting and death?"

"Because change cannot come without war," Miraak said. He dropped from Sahrotaar's neck. He paced to the edge of the balcony, looking down upon the courtyard where Frinkiizuth's bones lay. "I exist, because the dovah failed to bring peace to the world."

Odahviing's head raised swiftly. He arched his neck in condemnation. "Bring peace?" He snarled mockingly. "We do not exist to have peace, foolish man. We exist to fight, to draw blood, to kill, or be killed. The strongest is the one who should dictate all. All beings are bound by this rule, not just the dov."

"Then we will simply disagree." Miraak said. "I do not care what you believe. Leave, but know that I will be coming home. Alduin will fall, and I will tame this world."

"The world will end before that happens! Even if Lord Alduin is not what I thought, his wrath will not be denied," Odahviing snapped and leapt from his perch, flying away.

"Skuldafn. I've heard of this place," Miraak said after several minutes had passed with only the dragons' brutal fight filling the silence. "Only Alduin's most trusted human servants were allowed to enter this place. If I remember correctly, a low-ranking, wild dragon would be tasked with carrying them here, and then would be killed on the honor of Alduin for carrying these humans... I wonder if Vahlok ever saw this place...he was always so... _respected_..." He shook his head. "Now, this place of dragon _honor_ ," he snorted derisively, "-It is a husk. Much has changed these last two millennia."

Miraak leaned on the broken railing, smiling faintly to himself. Finally, his life was improving.

"Do you truly intend to bring war?" the serpentine dragon asked, his voice uncertain.

"I intend to do whatever is necessary to tame the chaos in this world. It may not come to war. But if it does, it is no more than what an intelligent and powerful leader should do. Like Tiber Septim himself." Miraak shook his head, recalling how he'd heard of the feats of the dragonborn emperor through the Summit of Apocrypha - the entry of knowledge. It had given him hope to know that the dragonborn were always trying to bring peace and order to the world. "Yes, the Septim Empire is strong. Perhaps the peace it has brought will last for a thousand years more. Perhaps not. One day, it will fall, because mortal lives are fleeting. When it does collapse, I will be there."

* * *

Miraak stood alone before the ancient tomb in a mountain of ice and snow. Fortunately, the door was still accessible. He entered it quietly, passing through groups of coffins embedded in the walls. The crypt was dank, cold, empty. It'd long since been left to sit, abandoned. He moved forward, noting the undead soldiers that still guarded the temple. He found he could pass them without detection, using his magic to cloak himself from them. He did not see the necessity in fighting them, and so he did not. Besides the uselessness of a fight with them, these empty husks served a purpose. They had been created by the priests of the Dragon Order to guard crypts from potential robbers who couldn't leave well enough alone.

Why let a perfectly good body go to waste, when it could be used to keep out grave-robbers? It's not like the soul needed it anymore. Miraak felt his derision at such thoughts, before realizing what it meant; the Dragon Order had gotten ahold of this crypt. He increased his pace, a creeping worry in his thoughts. Why would they have done that?

He entered the main burial chamber where a large wall had been erected at the far end. A wall of honor that told a story. Or maybe in this case, it was a tale of dishonor. He did not know, nor was he interested in finding out. He crossed to the coffin in the center of the room. He stood before it, and let go of his cloaking magicka.

"I trespass here," Miraak stated to the coffin as if it might talk back.

It did more than that. The lid of the sarcophagus burst upward with the force of a dragon Shout. It slammed against the ground nearby. The undead creature emerged, robes swirling, old leathery flesh gleaming with power. It hovered in the air, a hollow howl screeching from it. Miraak could just make out the unnatural, glowing-blue eyes behind its painfully familiar mask.

"The remnants of the Dragon Order would dishonor you...but I will not allow your body to be dishonored in the service of Alduin any longer, Zin," Miraak spat and swung his blade forward.

Unfortunately, the undead woman had greater reflexes than he had expected. She slipped out of range of his blade, hovering in the air. She gathered power to herself, glowing white. She shifted, rattling off a phrase in the dragon tongue before whipping her staff forward. An icy surge of air poured through the chamber.

Miraak held a ward before himself for protection, deflecting the attack.

"FUS RO DAH!" Miraak shouted when it had passed. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The two shouts slammed into the cadaver, throwing it from the air. It crashed against the ground. Miraak did not waste a second. He leapt over the coffin, plunging his blade into the corpse's heart. He watched the unnatural blue light behind Dukaan's mask fade, the body no longer held by the dark magicka that'd possessed it.

"And now it is time," Miraak whispered. He remembered the words he'd spent so long meditating on, a thousand years worth. He'd been given the _entire_ thu'um, as part of his deal with Hermaeus Mora. At his disposal was an arsenal of power that none had held thus far. Every power the dovah had ever had the chance of claiming, now belonged to him.

"I will reach into Atherius itself... I will keep my promise to you, Zin..."

He pulled the mask from her withered face.

He inhaled, and whispered the Dragon Shout.

"Slen Tiid Vo..."

* * *

.

* * *

 **Dovahzul Translations -**

 _Dovah - Dragon(s)_  
 _Thuri - Overlord_  
 _Rotmulaag - Word(s) of Power_  
 _Odahviing(dragon name) - Snow Hunter Wing_  
 _Kel - Elder Scroll_  
 _FAH THURI MIRAAK - FOR MY LORD MIRAAK_


	36. City in Flames

_**A/N**_ - _I apologize for my absence, loyal readers. I do not wish to bore you with the details, so I simply will not. And even if I did want to, I abhor drama, and just want to pretend it didn't happen. As for myself, I am recovering. I cannot promise how fast my updates will come, but I have no intentions of quitting when I've come so far._

 _I've changed my username, too, in case that threw anybody for a loop._

 _I'm also working on a comic related to my head-canons of the Elder Scrolls universe, but it will not feature Miraak as the main character. I will post it on my Deviantart account. I will also put up a note whenever I've completed it, with more details, in case you find yourself interested._

 **Warning** \- _This chapter will contain spoilers for Oblivion. If you haven't played the game, and you're intending to, just know this will spoil an important part of it. If you have any questions, send me a PM._

* * *

~D~

XXXVI. City in Flames

(Hiim ko Yolosse)

"Slen Tiid Vo..."

He whispered the Shout. The power poured into the ancient corpse.

Time had held her body for a millinium, turning it old, brittle, and weak. With these words of power, that age fell away, turning back to a time when she drew breath. The gray, leathery skin began to change in color, pink spreading across ancient flesh. Her blank, clouded eyes became clear and bright in the torch-lit room. The body filled out in the burial robes, and Miraak pulled her into his arms.

She was ancient no more.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to hope his efforts would succeed. He focused, reaching through the space above the world where he knew her soul would be. He called to it. He felt it respond, drifting down from the stars, from Aetherius.

Zin gasped in air, her hands flying out to seize Miraak's shoulders with a surprising iron-strong hold. She coughed for several seconds, shaking violently.

"Zin," Miraak said, trying to steady her. "Zin. Can you hear me?"

"W-what...what's happening!?" she stammered, gaze flashing. She shifted, turning her head to observe her surroundings. "Where am I? Where's Vahlok!?" She pulled from his arms, leaping to her bare feet. She took in the burial chamber with a surprised face. The ice mage spun in a slow circle, eyes wide, confused.

Miraak felt equally bemused. "Vahlok is dead," he responded in an uncertain tone. "He has been dead for quite some time."

"You ended his life?" She put a hand to her head, closing her eyes. "No, Hevnoraak was responsible for that... Wait..." Realization fell over her like a swiftly-adorned cloak. She lowered her hand. "I...was dead... I died." She looked down, noting the burial robes and armor she wore. "Before that, though, you...disappeared... Hermaeus Mora..." Her gaze darkened. "I warned you," she said. "I knew he would deceive you for his own gain."

"It is too late to change that," Miraak exhaled. He wondered why she was so confused. "Do you recall our conversation earlier?"

"No," she answered. "I don't see how we could have conversed while I was dead..."

"I summoned your soul," Miraak explained. "We spoke. It was...accidental, but it allowed me to understand that bringing you life once more would be far easier than I had anticipated..."

She scowled. "I do not recall that..." She looked around. "Where is Zoortah?"

"Dead, I am certain. His body must be in this tomb."

" _Why_ did you revive me?" Zin asked. "Did you escape Hermaeus Mora?"

"No, not yet," Miraak admitted. "I am closer to that goal though, than I have ever been before." He stared into her eyes. He'd pictured this moment several times since he'd first learned this Shout, but he hadn't expected this. He had thought she would be more...pleased than this. Excited, even, to live again. To try again.

"Are you alright?" He asked, now concerned there could be unknown side effects that he'd not expected.

"I was _dead_ , Miraak," Zin said as if that one statement were directed at a child. She paused, massaged her temples and went on. "I...feel strange. Heavy and burdened. I suppose that's because I'm mortal again..." She knitted her brow once more. "You have no idea how hard it is to bear death. Now I must live with the memory of it, knowing I will experience it once more when I turn old again. Do you plan on reviving me over and over, again and again, until I become insane?" She demanded.

"That is unnecessary," Miraak said, quickly realizing that the revival was far more stressful to her than he had predicted. That would pass, he was sure. "I have techniques that I have gained from..." He stopped himself. "You will not die again."

She said nothing and stared at him, expression guarded.

Uncertain, Miraak stated, "I believe that you should become acquainted with Sahrotaar."

"I see," she responded curtly.

Miraak began to feel uncomfortable, which annoyed him. He remembered this woman being the one person he could let down his guard with, but here she was, staring at him so coldly. He felt certain that he needed to get it across to her somehow, that this was important. She didn't understand his reasons for doing what he'd done. "Zin," he whispered, stepping forward and lifting the wolf fang necklace she'd given him so long. He dangled the ancient teeth from his fingers, in plain view. "I never forgot you." After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he seized his mask and lifted it from his face. "I need your help now. I need _you_. You are the _only_ person I trust with this."

After what felt like several minutes, she gave a response. "Miraak," she muttered. Her expression softened, and she looked away. "I...apologize. Alduin still lives, and all I felt was anger at being denied eternal peace. I have acted unworthy. It is...strange, waking in this world again... I will fight with you. I always will... No matter how I feel, it is my duty to ensure that Alduin falls and this world finds peace. I will become used to life once more, and I will live for as long as I need to." She met his gaze again, finishing, "and you were also denied Sovngarde, Miraak. I should remember that. You deserved more."

"As I said, I am working on a way to escape Apocrypha," Miraak responded, feeling himself relax. He hadn't realized he'd been so tense. "And when I do, I will fulfill my promise to you. I will rebuild what was taken from me."

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you." She said into his ear.

"For...?" He questioned, holding her to him.

"I remember that I never thought I'd see you again...and now..."

"I will be sure to visit often, my honor," Miraak said, acknowledging silently how relieved he was to have her back in his arms. "Hermaeus Mora allows me moments of time out of his library."

She stepped away. "Take me to this...Sahrotaar, then. A dragon name, hm? That's not what I was expecting from you... How the time has changed us all... And I would much like to find better robes soon. These are freezing."

"So says the mage of ice," the dragonborn smirked.

"Just because I use it in battle, doesn't mean I'm immune to feeling cold," she responded. "I am more resistant, though... Enough of that. What of Zoortah?" she queried. "He was a great fighter."

"Do you wish him new life?"

"I...honestly, do not know... That...power is unnatural." She faced the door and murmured, "at the very least, I want to ensure his body is resting...as it should be... Not stumbling around in the stupor of undeath."

They left the chamber, Miraak following Zin. She seemed familiar with the temple, and he remembered how this had once been hers long ago. She marched with confidence to a chamber almost identical in size to the last one they'd been in, where several coffins sat, looking long-undisturbed. "Here," she said, pointing to a larger one on a raised dais. "This should be where they buried him."

Miraak approached the coffin on the other side, preparing himself to fight the draugr that would be within. "I trespass here." When nothing happened, he looked at Zin, and she stared back silently. "Is this correct?" he asked.

"Look at the name, it says Zoortah," she replied evenly, indicating the engraving on it. She moved around the coffin.

Miraak leaned forward to examine the lid. Carefully, he reached out and pushed. It shifted with surprising ease, so he shoved it off. He stared within.

"How did you do that?" Zin asked, walking forward to stand next to him. "It should have been magickally sealed to-" She froze. "It's empty."

The coffin held nothing but a few scraps of ancient linen.

"Where is his body?" she demanded, breath frosting in the air.

Miraak exhaled and ran a hand down his face. "The Dragon Order obviously took over this tomb. They must have destroyed the body."

"Why? They enchanted all the others. Maybe they moved it," Zin said. "I must search, when I find the time."

The dragonborn faced away from her. "Let us leave this place."

"You know, Miraak," she said as they moved away from the room. "I think all of the coffins in there were empty, or we would have been attacked."

"Strange, indeed," the dragonborn responded.

"If I find Zoortah's remains...I want to leave him in peace. That Shout you've learned is...wrong. Unnatural."

* * *

The Imperial City was burning.

The Daedric Prince of the Deadlands, Mehrunes Dagon, had commanded armies to bear down upon Tamriel without mercy, and now the capital city of Cyrodiil was facing his full wrath. The Dremora poured from the portals dotting the area like demented rivers of death, cutting down their opposition without mercy. They wielded flaming, serrated weapons. The sky above was glowing an unnatural, bloody red, and dark clouds swirled through it. The guard of the city put up a fight, along with the empire's Blades, but they were steadily falling under the invaders, being pushed back.

Zin and Miraak had arrived not long ago to find the city in this state. Not too much time had passed before the dragonborn found his sword burrowing into the heart of the Dremora warrior, who gave an ungodly screech. A clank filled his ears as the axe the beast had been wielding hit the stones. Ripping his blade back, the unholy creature fell to the ground. He turned slightly, another Dremora soldier charging him from behind, yelling a challenge. An ice spear imbedded in the back of its shoulder, throwing it to the floor where Zin leapt forward, driving a blade through its head.

"Our progress is pathetic," Miraak declared, cutting another of the servants of Mehrunes Dagon down by first slicing its legs, and then driving his weapon through its horned head. He seized his staff, dual wielding it with the sword.

"We may already be too late," Zin returned. "The enemy is relentless and unending."

They pushed onward, fighting against the hordes of beasts.

"This chaos would never have happened if these _dragonborn_ weren't so foolish!" Miraak snapped, decapitating a scamp. "Relying solely on the amulet and a living heir? I could laugh at Alessia's foolishness now, if I were in the mood to."

"I don't think anyone had any better ideas, at the time!"

They both pressed onward as the Oblivion gates spewed Daedric minions from their depths. Their sheer numbers slowed the two former dragon priests, despite their combined power.

 _This is exactly what should never have happened!_ Miraak thought. His sword dropped upon an enemy. Blood spattered his mask. He unleashed a wave of tentacles. The surging invaders staggered through the poisonous limbs, somehow ripping free with little trouble. The dragonborn put his staff away and decided he'd had enough.

His inner dragon roared in fury. It opened its jaws, and spoke.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The enemy fell, howling in their demonic voices.

 _If the heir dies..._ He pushed away the thought. The last heir to the Septim empire could not fall. _This is why we need a strong empire, one with a powerful leader, one that-_

"Miraak!" Zin called over the noise of the battle, breaking into his thoughts. "Look!"

Miraak did not have to look to know the terrible being was there. He could feel its power pouring into Tamriel like a vengeful wave, dark and vaguely familiar - the power of a Daedra Prince.

He turned his head, gazing where the beast stood, towering into the air. It had four arms, one brandishing a mighty axe. The flesh visible under twisted black armor was crimson. His weapon dripped with the blood of mortals, and the Demon of Destruction turned away from them, fixing his malevolent gaze upon the temple of Akatosh.

"It is Mehrunes Dagon... We are too late," Zin whispered, backing up to stand closer to Miraak. "No one here has the power to fight a Daedra Lord!"

Miraak blocked a swing from a Dremora. He roared in fury, parrying. The flaming blade glanced away from his, and he then slashed its chest open. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" He unleashed the power of his thu'um across a wave of the invaders once again. They howled at the flames, but continued their charge.

"IIZ SLEN NUS!" Zin supplied, freezing the wave of Daedra in place.

Miraak turned his gaze back to the Daedra Lord. Dagon raised his axe, swinging it down in a mighty stroke. It crashed through the ceiling of the temple, tumbling rubble and debris downward. Dust rose from the ground, and he stomped forward.

Why was he so interested in that temple? Miraak felt a chill run through him. _That must be where his biggest threat lay. The remaining Septim. The last heir to the dragonblood emperors. Why else be so concerned with it?_

"If the heir is still alive, Zin," he said, moving forward. "Then he may yet be able to drive Dagon back into Oblivion with the power of the dragonblood."

He allowed adrenaline and rage to fuel his strikes against the opposition. "FUS RO DAH!"

Several of the enemy fell, and he slaughtered them while they were down. More, however, still came.

 _So many. There are too many. It is impossible to reach the temple in time._

A bright light surged across the battlefield, and the Daedric soldiers stumbled, shielding their eyes, screaming. It was as if someone had brought the sun into the Imperial City, and it was burning their eyes. Miraak and Zin turned their eyes, squinting at the golden luminance. They both froze in amazement. An entity of glowing, white fire stood before Mehrunes Dagon, a dragon of purest form. The dovah roared at the Daedra. Mehrunes snarled and swung at the one who stood before him, his weapon smashing its chest.

"That must surely be Akatosh himself," Zin murmured in awe.

"The Aedra do not interfere in mortal affairs," Miraak retorted, but he too could find no better explanation for the mighty dragon, larger even than Alduin, brighter than the stars.

The dragon surged forward like an arrow, bolting through the center of the Daedra's being. Dagon howled, staggering in obvious pain. Dark blood splashed down his black chest plate. Akatosh spun and slammed his massive tail into his enemy's head, before unleashing a gout of flame upon him. The Lord of Destruction twisted, swinging the axe at the dragon. It crashed into his jaw and sent him reeling. Mehrunes lunged forward, bringing the huge weapon down for a severe blow. Akatosh slipped away from the arc of the attack, snaking his head forward to bury his fangs into the Daedra's neck.

"It is not Akatosh..." Miraak realized after a moment. "Not his true self... This is a dragonborn...filled with Akatosh's power. A dragon's true power. It is the last Septim. The heir to the empire..." The two formidable creatures clashed again, their energy sending a shockwave across the battlefield.

"Unbelievable," Zin whispered, robes whipping. "That power..."

Another clash almost caused every fighter in the city to stumble and fall.

The dragon yanked back, and a stream of blood flowed from the Daedra's neck. Mehrunes Dagon slumped forward with exhaustion, falling to his knees before the dragon. The dovah arched his neck and unleashed a burst of bright fire that rivaled his own luminence. The flames washed over the Daedra, and he caved, his roars of pain lost in the inferno. He writhed, all four of his hands reaching desperately for the dragon. The dovah did not let up on his assault. Then, the reaching hands fell.

Mehrunes Dagon vanished from the world.

The dragon's head sunk for a few moments in obvious fatigue. He twisted and stumbled back to the temple, looking within. He braced his wings on it. Miraak swore he saw the beast nod to itself before turning away. Then it reared back, wings expanding, head thrown to the air. With one last flash of light, the black clouds vanished.

Miraak blinked slowly, his vision returning. Observing, he saw that around them were the smoldering remains of Oblivion gates and the broken city. However, the sky was blue once more, the clouds white and lazy. There was not a single Dremora soldier remaining. By the temple, stood a mighty statue, capturing the pose and beauty that had once been the dragon. It stood tall and proud, a reminder of the fight.

"He's dead. Talos' heir... Martin Septim, is dead," Miraak breathed, sheathing his sword. "If only there had been more time..."

Zin sat down, her expression defeated. "He died honorably, at least. Not many can claim that they gave their life and saved the world."

The first dragonborn folded his arms, staring at the stone dovah. "The empire will fall without a true dragonblood leader. It is only a matter of time." He almost wanted to sit upon the blood-soaked pavement, too, exhaustion and defeat washing over him. "I should have been more careful. I should have been watching. We need a dragonborn emperor."

"Then we must find another," Zin insisted.

"If there _is_ another... This chaos has killed so many."

"If there is no other," she said, "then we must find another way to bring peace and stability."

"At least, it seems the gates of Oblivion will stay closed now," Miraak said, "even without the dragonblood emperor. That will give Dagon something to ponder as he nurses his wounds. He will not recover quickly from this. I must say...I am surprised...the Aedra do not often intervene to halt chaos."

As they spoke, they saw a figure stumble from the wreckage of the temple, gaze turned upon the statue. The person collapsed to their knees, and even from that distance, the posture was one of obvious grief. The surviving soldiers began to gather near the dragon statue, their gazes upon it in awe.

Zin said, "Let us leave this place. These people must begin to rebuild...and we must decide what course of action to take."

Miraak heaved a sigh and turned away, unable to feel anything beside intense disappointment.

Zin stood and looked around. She caught site of a child emerging from a collapsed building, face filled with shock. "This should never have happened, Miraak," she whispered, watching the boy clamber over the rubble, face stained with tears.

* * *

When Mehrunes Dagon was banished back to Oblivion, Hermaeus Mora felt it like a tremor through the fabric of destiny. He closed his great many eyes, calling upon the vast amounts of knowledge he had acquired since the beginning of time. With ease, he connected all of the dots, piecing together the truth, the realization of the battle becoming his own. How close the Lord of Change had been! How close he had come to changing the fate of Tamriel forever more. Now, Mora would never know if it could have truly been. Destiny was fragile, he knew. How easily it could - and should - fall apart. This he had concluded from his vast amounts of knowledge.

So why did it seem like there was always someone to put it back on course when it was so close to failing? Why was there always a factor unaccounted for? Why was there always a coincidence to push back? Was it coincidence? Or was it some universal rule? Or was he reading too much into it? It was hard to manage knowledge that could fall apart in moments. The only answer was to keep watching, keep learning, keep gaining more and more secrets. He would know all.

He felt Miraak's re-entry into Apocrypha. Without hesitation, he appeared before his servant. The man looked worn, his robes torn and steadily mending wounds apparent on his body. He held his mask in his hands, his eyes shining with anger and defeat. He paced in agitation, staring at nothing. Negativity poured from him, dark emotions swirling in his heart.

Mora spoke to the first dragonborn. "You seem... _disappointed_."

"The Septim bloodline is done," Miraak growled in response. He stopped, facing the Lord of Apocrypha. His tone lost its harshness. "I was too late to aid in the battle... Martin died to send Mehrunes Dagon back to Oblivion, and now I cannot be sure there are any dragonborn left in the world. It would have been more simple to reclaim the Septim line," he muttered, clenching his mask in his hands, "then to start completely over!"

"Mehrunes was a _fool_ ," Hermaeus said, tone sounding smug and superior. "Had he _waited_... _planned_...used _caution_... He may have succeeded."

Miraak looked up sharply, and Mora could sense suspicion in his heart. "Why do you say that?" he asked after a moment.

"Because it is true," responded the Daedra Lord.

Miraak muttered, "I almost wonder if you had hoped he would succeed."

"I _know_ fate, Miraak," Hermaeus said. "I simply see that one problem caused another...and became Dagon's ultimate failure. It is something we all can...learn from. Had the Septim bloodline been properly annihilated and the hero who restored it killed...then he would have succeeded. It is a simple acknowledgement of truth..." He seemed to shift. "That is unimportant, though... I know that you seek something from me... Speak it..." Indeed, there was that need to know in the man's heart. That same need that had drove him into Apocrypha in the first place.

Miraak folded his arms, squaring his shoulders. "I must know if any of my descendants yet live."

Hermaeus blinked slowly, pondering why Miraak was always so concerned with any living dragonborn. It didn't seem very beneficial to himself, for what could he gain from ensuring the emperors were dragonborn? Why he wished to remain...involved...he did not know.

And Mora hated not knowing.

He decided the simplest way to find out, would be to give Miraak the knowledge he wanted, and then watch. Then, he would just have to wait...wait and see what the other did with it. It would be more interesting this way. Perhaps it would enlighten him as to why the dragonborn had brought that woman, Zin, back to mortal life.

"Yes..." the Daedric Prince of Fate whispered. "There is only one, though...and he is but a simple farmer, living in Skyrim, almost as impotent in the dragonblood as any mortal. Most of your other descendants died in this recent...chaos."

Miraak exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "Then I must wait...wait for the next one who shows promise. It will only be so long before Alduin's return, and then the remaining dragonborn must know of their destiny."

 _Alduin._ Could this be Miraak's main motivation to find the last dragonborn?

His champion began to walk away, saying, "Now, if you do not mind, I will return to my books."

"Of course," Hermaeus Mora whispered. He drew his attention away from his servant, knowing that whatever came next, it would certainly be very interesting...and educational.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **A/N** _ \- _There is no dovahzul to translate this chapter._


	37. Heir to the Dragonblood

~D~

XXXVII. Heir to the Dragonblood

(Vahriik wah faal Sossedov)

Not long after the Oblivion Crisis, Zin had taken up residence in the Imperial City. Her goal had originally been to help rebuild. Over time, however, it had evolved into something more than that. In the midst of her assistance, she'd become an influential woman in the area, recognized for her magickal talents, and had even acquired some wealth. Currently, she owned a resplendent house in the city complete with a garden open to the sky. The ice mage had even created some ties with the courts of Cyrodiil. Her biggest ties had come with her support of the Legion during the Thalmor siege of the city, in which she'd fought back several groups of plundering elven soldiers, rallying the remaining fighters and protecting more helpless citizens until the empire had managed to reclaim their lost seat of power.

And it had not been lost on her that even though centuries had passed since the day Martin Septim died to defend Tamriel from Mehrunes Dagon, the empire had never truly recovered. It suffered without a legitimate, dragonblood leader, which was why she and Miraak had put so much effort into tracking down another one...without any luck.

 _Until now, that is._

Zin allowed that thought to stay with her as she glanced at Miraak sitting across from her. He'd arrived not long ago. They were both in the garden at a table. Between them were several books and papers scattered about that he'd brought - old parchments with dates, names, family bloodlines - anything that could help in their efforts to track down a dragonborn.

"This should please you," Zin almost smiled as she said it.

Miraak looked at her curiously, narrowing his eyes.

She continued, "I used the information you gave me a while back on the dragonborn bloodline, and I've finally tracked down a potential emperor... Or empress, if you will. She is a soldier, trained to fight by the Legion itself...unfortunately, she's not exactly popular."

"What do you mean?" Miraak asked.

"She joined the rebellion. She serves as an officer for the Stormcloaks."

Miraak scowled in confusion. "The what?"

"Nordic rebels," Zin explained. "They oppose the Thalmor and the empire's treaty. She is respected within the rebel ranks, and as far as I have researched - she is a great warrior."

"Thalmor," Miraak spat. "Elves with little concern for anything but themselves. They would open the gates of Oblivion themselves if they could if it ensured that no one would ever interfere with their power..." He picked another book and begin flipping through its pages. He leaned back a little, voice careless when he spoke, "We need a true Dragonborn, Zin. The empire is weak... We need a person of great strength...not merely a soldier. We need an arcane warrior, a mage...a person of such skill, that they could have been a dragon priest for the old Order. Ideally, they _should_ be a warrior, a mage, a Tongue, and a person of worthy character."

Zin sat the papers down and folded her arms. "Did it occur to you that you might have to lower your expectations? If we find her, we can teach her the truth of her powers. She'll learn to Shout and use magicka...in time. Imagine it for me, will you? We can help her become the empress that is needed. If we present one of the dragonblood to the Elder Council. They cannot refuse."

Miraak exhaled, closing the book. "And this woman would be our answer to the chaos in the world? To the Thalmor? To Alduin? To every other threat that will come after them?" he finally asked. "You believe that she has the potential?"

"Yes," Zin said. "All evidence points that the dragonblood is strong in her. Even if no one realizes it...yet. Very few even remember what dragonborn truly are... We can remind them. We could teach her, contact the Greybeards-"

"Greybeards!" Miraak snorted. "Old men Shouting to the sky?"

"They would legitimize her claim in the eyes of many!" Zin snapped. She fought her annoyance, trying to remind herself that Miraak had been disconnected from this world for so long, that he'd likely forgotten how politics worked... No matter how old he became, he still wanted to shove his way to victory...like a dragon. "Miraak, we must find out for ourselves before we dismiss her. Let us meet her in person."

Miraak shrugged, muttering, "As if we have much choice." Louder, he declared, "Let us find this woman, and see if she has what it takes to make the empire glorious again." though his voice sounded as if he were unconvinced. "Stormcloaks," he scoffed. "What kind of title is that?"

"The one you use when you glorify your leader," she replied, standing. "That is - Ulfric Stormcloak."

The first dragonborn was incredulous. "Really? According to you, if I had a following of servants, and they glorified me, then they'd call themselves..." He frowned when he said his next words. "Miraaks? That is ridiculous."

Zin chuckled a little and made for the door to the house. "The world is a bit different than the one you knew, Miraak."

* * *

Miraak was beginning to regret agreeing to Zin's request. So far, Skyrim was just as harsh as he remembered, even with the amount of time that had passed. The snow-ridden wind whipped by them constantly until their fancy, Cyrodiil-born horses were reduced to huffing nags needing to rest every hour or so and their robes were frozen stiff at the edges. Even more often than their horses needing to rest were the constant wildlife attacks, creatures hoping to make an easy meal of them. Bears, wolves, chaurus, spiders, sabre cats, and even bandits would take a chance at them, only to be frozen to a statue or reduced to a pile of pure ash.

Fortunately, Miraak was not bothered by the cold, even though the attacks were a nuisance they could have done without. It was good to see that even though he had served Hermaeus for so long, he was not any worse for wear travelling this land. _And I have also been able to increase the length of time in which I linger in Tamriel,_ he thought. It was good he was visiting so frequently. It had a positive effect on him.

Not long after the light of day dwindled, they stopped for the remainder of the night. The horses needed a long rest.

Zin crossed from where she'd just tethered their steeds. She narrowed her eyes at Miraak, who sat cross-legged upon the ground nearby. "I'm surprised that you have not had to return to Oblivion yet," she stated, depositing herself on her bedroll. She'd grown used to Miraak not needing to sleep. It had bothered her for a while when she'd first learned of it, but she'd eventually grown used to it. Due to this...ability, he'd taken it upon himself to watch for possible danger while she slept.

The ice mage went on. "I half expected to make this journey alone."

The dragonborn responded, "On my last outing, I was able to remain for two weeks before I began to weaken." He smiled wryly. He'd not worn his mask for days. Zin had noticed that he had begun to start putting it away at any opportunity he got. Perhaps that was just what he did in her presence, since he knew how much she disliked it.

He murmured, "Time is much slower here...at least, it feels like it."

"I have to wonder what Hermaeus thinks of you being here so often."

Miraak shrugged. "We do not always see eye-to-eyes, but he has no doubt of my loyalty. I do not see him caring either way. Time has no meaning for him, either."

"I don't want to live forever, Miraak," Zin admitted. "Imagine, living to see the end of time. It has been hard enduring the past several centuries, regardless of our cause." She yawned.

"You are tired," he commented.

"And you're avoiding a response to what I just said," she shot back.

He exhaled. "Perhaps you do not remember, but I made you a promise, Zin. One I fully intend to keep. I made this world a promise... I refuse to let it die to nothing, no matter how much time passes."

"You always were stubborn," she spoke quietly, yawning again.

Miraak grinned one of his rarest grins - one of true amusement. "And what would you say, my honor, if I were to tell you that we could have simply...teleported to Skyrim, but I chose not to."

She was almost too tired to feel anything but mild surprise. "Why didn't we, then?"

"Because..." he faltered, realizing he enjoyed dropping his guard. His smile deepened, if possible. "Because this takes longer. I prefer lingering on Nirn...and I wanted to travel with you. One of my fondest memories from my past was when Ahzidal, Zahkriisos, you and I all traveled after that fight with Hevnoraak. It was one of my worst, yet best, moments. It was a moment that changed everything...for the better, mostly thanks to you."

"I see," she said now, grinning back. "You're about to ask for something, with this flattery."

He chuckled. "Indeed. Two things, actually," He scooted closer. He seized her hands and looked her squarely in the eyes. He whispered, "first one - will you help me escape from Apocrypha?"

Her features shifted. The look on her face made it obvious that she had not expected that. "Escape?" She sounded dubious. "You want to defy Hermaeus Mora? I know you mentioned it once before, but it's been so long..."

He nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately, I've found that I cannot do it alone. I have spent these last few centuries carefully looking into all of the possibilities, so as not to be caught."

Zin searched his eyes for a few moments. "How could you escape?" She asked, sounding dubious.

"As I said, I've been doing some research. It would require an incredible amount of power, but I know how to obtain it. I'll need your aid. I've been a fool in many things, Zin, but I _know_ I can do this. There is one more trial I must undertake after this, and then, I will make it all clear to you."

She tightened her grip on his hands. "Fine, Miraak. I am not sure if this will succeed, but if you are willing to try, then so am I. It's obvious you've been thinking about this for some time."

"Since the beginning," he replied. He found himself again feeling such warmth in her presence. "For so long, I wanted to reach you. I wanted to return to fulfill my destiny, but that was taken from me. Ever since I learned I could bring you back, I knew I could regain what had been lost. And when I have escaped, when I have given the world a dragonborn ruler, I can finally find peace in the afterlife." His face became serious. "I always imagined that if you were given the chance to start over again, then you would."

"I would," she responded. "I will bring you home, if it is in my power...my love."

"Good," he murmured. "Good."

"What was the second thing you wanted to ask for?"

Miraak was dead serious now. "A kiss."

She stared at him a moment before she leaned forward and gave him what he wanted.

* * *

Windhelm was as unforgiving as Miraak remembered. The stone walls were crumbling in their age, and the layers of snow and ice accumulated on it did nothing to help. The air was so cold, their breaths plumed almost constantly. The ancient bridge he and Zin strode up was weathered to the point that its carvings were almost beyond recognition, and the soldiers donned in blue armor at the entrance gave them hard, unwelcoming looks through their helmets.

"More recruits?" One of them asked the other.

"Probably. Ain't no other reason to come to this ice-cube," the other responded. "You there, outsiders," he addressed the two. "This is the city of the Stormcloaks - cause any trouble, and you'll find yourself in the dungeons faster than a you can say, 'sorry'. If you are here because you wish to overthrow oppression, then you are welcome."

Miraak mentally scoffed. Even if his intentions in Windhelm were less than noble, these guards wouldn't have been able to stop him. It was lucky for them he wasn't here to cause trouble.

"We're looking for a Stormcloak officer," Zin stated. "Perhaps you can help."

"Most officers are out there," gestured the guard vaguely out at the landscape. "Besides that, why should I tell you? You could be a spy, for-"

Zin plowed on, "her name is Evesel Ice-Blood."

The reaction from the guards was immediate. Their hands flew to their weapons, and the first guard approached Zin threateningly. "That traitor?" He spat. "What do you know of her?!"

"Traitor?" Zin echoed.

"Yes. But if you didn't already know that, you'd best be on your way."

Miraak sighed and muttered, " _Gol hah_..." The golden light of the thu'um washed over the guards, who instantly lost their defensive postures. "Tell us about Evesel," The dragonborn commanded.

The first guard began speaking in a dull voice. "She deserted a year ago. There were rumors that she ran off with a Thalmor mage, but they were unconfirmed."

Miraak looked at Zin. "Why are we just now hearing of this?"

"I...I don't know," Zin responded, returning his gaze, uncertainty in her eyes. "My research indicated that she was still with the Stormcloaks."

"It mostly was swept under the rug," the second guard stated in the same monotone. "Ain't nobody here who wanted to think of Evesel dishonored. Everyone remembered a time when she was a true Nord... That, and if she'd actually been captured and executed, her treachery may have been more widely-known, as an example."

"Are there any leads?" Zin asked.

The other shook his head. "Not that I know of. If it exists, such confidential information would be kept by those at the top. Jarl Ulfric and his top lieutenant, Galmar Stone-Fist."

Miraak said, "Let us find the leader and convince him to hand over this info."

He marched into the city, not even bothering further with the enthralled guards. They stood blankly at their posts, never protesting. Zin followed the dragonborn through the towering gates as he made for the palace. "Wait, Miraak," she said. "From what I've heard of Ulfric, he's even more of a stubborn mule than you are."

Miraak was unperturbed, saying, "Then I'll just use Bend Will."

"Would you allow me to try a more...diplomatic approach?" Zin demanded. "That Shout is almost as uncanny as your raise-people-from-the-dead Shout."

"We can do this your way... but it'll take longer." They entered the Palace of the Kings, where the hallway was just the way Miraak remembered them. "Same hallway...different banners," he mused.

"You've been here before?" she asked.

"Yes," Miraak replied. "That was a long time ago, though."

They walked down the chamber.

A man stood before the currently empty throne. He wore armor made of steel and bearskins, and his face was scarred, aged, weathered. He was a large man, looking as if he might be capable of killing a bear with just his empty hands. When he spoke, it was in a rough, gravelly voice that annoyed Miraak.

"Who are you to approach the Throne of Windhelm?" he demanded.

Miraak was reminded of a growling guard dog. _This is surely Galmar Stone-Fist._ He wanted to just get the answers, and be done with it. Still, he waited for Zin's "diplomacy". It must've been an unfortunate habit she'd picked up from the Imperial City.

"I wish to speak to Jarl Ulfric," she stated calmly.

The man folded his muscular arms. "Why's that?"

"I was told that he could help me find someone," she said. She smiled and continued with a persuasive tone, "It's a personal matter."

Miraak didn't understand why she wouldn't just let him bend this man's will. It'd certainly be less time-consuming. And easier.

Galmar stared at her for several moments, as if trying to decide whether she was lying or not. At length, he huffed. "Well, I'll go ask him if he's in the mood for a chat. Don't get your hopes up, girl."

"Girl?" Zin asked Miraak when the man left the room. "I'm surely five times his age!"

The dragonborn scowled. "He is a disrespectful-" He halted his line of speech. "Bend Will would be much more useful here."

Not long after he had spoken those words, Ulfric Stormcloak entered the room. He was tall, taller than the man they'd first encountered, if not quite as muscular. His face was angular, hardened, framed with dark brown hair. His eyes gleamed intelligently, and he stared at them both with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. He crossed the room, sitting upon his throne to stare down upon them in an almost arrogant manner.

"I do not receive many visitors directly," Ulfric started, "so you must forgive Galmar if he came across as rude. He is not a very patient, or well-mannered man, but he is a fine soldier, and has a good heart." He gestured. "What are your names?"

Miraak had been expecting this man to be even worse than Galmar, but so far, he sounded at least a little reasonable. Still, there was something about Stormcloak that made him wary. Perhaps it was the gleam of the man's eyes, the tilt of his head, the position of the lines of his face, the set of his jaw. Or perhaps it was none of these things. All he knew for sure, was that he didn't care for the way he felt, and that Zin's methods would most likely fail. He was beginning to wish he'd done more research on Ulfric Stormcloak himself. In fact, he should have learned of Evesel, too. It was a novice mistake on his part.

 _It won't happen again._

"I am..." Zin started, "...Ysalla...and this is...Gyeundere."

Miraak almost frowned at that absurd name, but caught himself in time.

"Jarl Ulfric, I have been searching for someone," she continued quickly, "someone I knew, and I was told only you might know what became of her... She joined your numbers, but I do not know where she is amongst them."

Ulfric stood up. "Do not insult my intelligence, Ysalla. I can tell when a person is lying...or withholding information. Tell my why you lie, and I may yet let you walk away."

"GOL HAH!" Miraak Shouted impatiently.

Ulfric froze, slowly sitting down again.

Zin scowled, casting a glance at the dragonborn. " _Miraak._ Why did you do that?"

He shrugged. "I'm growing bored of this, and I didn't like the way he was speaking to us." He was on edge. Ulfric Stormcloak was obviously not a man to be trifled with. Miraak wasn't even sure how Zin had expected to get their information with her methods after being caught so quickly in her lie.

She muttered under her breath, folding her arms in resignation.

"Tell us about Evesel Ice-Blood," Miraak commanded.

"She deserted us a year ago," Ulfric droned out. "I had ordered her to be tracked down... We received word recently that she was spotted in the Imperial City. I plan to send out soldiers shortly to arrest her once we have her exact location. We also were informed that Thalmor spies were located in the city, tracking her whereabouts."

"The _Imperial City_..." Zin actually groaned in frustration. "That's where we _were_!"

"Then that is where we must return," Miraak stated. He approached Zin. "There can be no delay this time. Evesel will not have much time... Perhaps it is already too late."

She almost gasped when he picked her up like it was an everyday occurence. He opened a portal with a flick of his hand, and walked through it. For a few moments, the ice mage was greeted with the green skies of Apocrypha above, swirling with countless pages and books. Huge tentacles spanned the cloudy atmosphere, and her gaze was drawn to the alien world of books and twisted metal that made up landforms in a sea of green, cloudy, slimy-looking liquid.

Before she could say anything, Miraak opened another portal, stepping into the warmth of Cyrodiil on a Second Seed night. Zin could hear the crickets chirping and the locusts singing, while torchbugs hovered in the air, giving off a lazy, green glow. The Imperial City sat bright upon the horizon.

Miraak put her down, moving forward.

"That was...incredible," Zin said after him, "and strange."

"Unfortunately," Miraak responded, "going through Apocrypha is the only way to properly use that power. And it's still not instantaneous. Night fell while we were in Oblivion."

"Then we must hurry."

They hastened forward, the calm night belying their concerns.

* * *

To learn where exactly Evesel resided, they had to ask around. After wasting precious time that they couldn't get back, they gained the information and made for their destination with speed. When they arrived at the house, the sight that greeted them was an ominous one. The door had been busted down, its boards strewn on the street in chunks of wood and splinters. Dark burns lined the outer walls, and the house was pitch black within. Miraak caught the scent of drying blood, feeling his gut flip. There was dragonblood amongst it, he knew. It had to be Evesel's blood. The scent of it was still strong, which meant it'd been spilled recently. He pulled his powerful mask to his face in case there was an ambush awaiting them.

A magickal ball of white light drifted from his palm, bobbing over his head. He drew his sword and entered the house. He held the blade before him, but all was silent. There were several scorch marks upon the walls along with arcs of blood. The crimson was drying on the broken furniture, as well. Zin exhaled sharply. This place didn't look like the inside of a house; it more closely resembled a miniature war-zone.

Miraak lowered his weapon, defeat rising in his chest. _Again, we're too late._

Then, he heard the sound. It rasped out, faint.

"Did you hear that?" Miraak asked.

Zin nodded, raising her staff.

The noise sounded again. He shifted his light and hurried down a hallway similarly painted in blood, Zin close behind. He entered the next room, which seemed to have taken the worst of the fight. A woman lay upon the floor amidst the broken debris, a deep gash across her shoulder and torso. There were several other minor wounds on her hands, and a large burn on her face. Blood seeped out of her body steadily, and a large pool of crimson had collected upon the floor beneath her. A broken longsword lay beside her. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared at the ceiling.

"Evesel?" Zin asked, dropping her staff. "Evesel, is that you?" She pushed forward to kneel beside the former Stormcloak.

Evesel choked some more, hand flexing. She turned her head, through great effort. Her gaze met Zin's. "Who...?" She coughed again.

"Shhh..." Zin whispered. "I'm here to help..."

"Is... Is... Jyrath..." she choked, spitting scarlet. "J-Jyrath..."

"Who is Jyrath?" Zin asked. 'I don't understand."

"My..." Her eyelids closed. "The journal...in...the desk..." she gasped, "...explains. I hope Talos...forgives...my mistakes... How could...they...welcome me in Sovngarde...after what I've done?"

"Her wounds are too severe," Miraak stated. "She's lost too much blood. We cannot heal her."

"I'm certain you will be forgiven," Zin assured her.

Evesel exhaled, her breath rattling. She breathed no more.

"Is it possible Jyrath is the Thalmor she supposedly ran off with?" Zin asked. "Perhaps that journal she mentioned will tell us."

"That doesn't sound like an elven name," Miraak responded, sheathing his weapon. "It sounds Nordic."

They heard a rustling from the other side of the room. They both looked at each other before moving toward it. The noise had originated from a large cabinet against the far wall that had remained surprisingly intact. Miraak yanked it open. A cry of alarm emitted from within. His magicka illuminated a boy huddled in the darkness inside, fear on his face. The former dragon priest stared at the boy, who stared back with wide eyes. They were bright, amber eyes, and his ears were pointed, but his skin was pale.

Miraak blinked. _Ha_ _lf elf, half man?_ He thought incredulously. "What is your name, boy?"

"J-Jyrath..." stammered the frightened child.

Miraak did not like the conclusions he was drawing.

"We're not here to hurt you," Zin said softly.

"She's dead...isn't she? Mother's dead!" the boy gasped, seeming to shrink down even more. "I was too afraid to look..."

"Find the journal," the first dragonborn told Zin. "We need to make sense of this."

She stood and left the room.

"You said you are Jyrath?" Miraak asked.

"Y-yes. Who are you?"

"My name is..." he started, and then muttered, "it doesn't matter." _He won't even know me after tonight,_ he thought.

The boy merely stared in response, expression uncertain.

Zin returned shortly, holding the leather-bound pages before her. She spent several minutes reading through them before concluding, "Apparently, Evesel did desert the Stormcloaks to be with an elf named Kaeyon, a Thalmor mage... She and Kaeyon met in the Great War, and she wound up carrying his child...but Evesel didn't want to have a half-elven son. She thought it dishonorable, at the time, so she dumped him at the orphanage...only to re-adopt him about a year ago out of regret. Jyrath is that son."

Miraak exhaled sharply. "Fools!" he snarled.

The boy jumped.

He ranted, "Foolish mortal men and women with their desires and petty fears and regrets! They have ruined any hope of saving the empire!" Miraak gestured at Jyrath, derisively snorting, "As if this... _half-breed_ could ever be emperor of Tamriel!" He turned and stormed out of the house.

"Stay here," Zin whispered to the boy and then chased after Miraak. "What are you _doing_?!" she demanded. "What is your problem?!"

He spun around after exiting the house, speaking with irritation, "I have searched for the heir to my bloodline for hundreds of years... Nearly a thousand. Too long. They're either not strong in the blood, or I am too late to help them."

"If you're so angry about it, why don't you go _resurrect_ her?"

Miraak glared and shook his head. "So that she may be killed again? No. She is too weak. I will not use that Shout so carelessly."

"And what about the boy? He may yet be potent with the dragonblood! We _cannot_ dismiss him so quickly."

"He is half elf, Zin!" The first dragonborn retorted. "No one in this land would exalt a half-elven leader. He is useless to this endeavor! To us!"

"Well, I'm not ready to give up!" Zin returned heatedly. "He is all that's left of your bloodline. We need him."

"We do not," Miraak growled. He lowered his voice, and it sounded purposeful. His eyes shone with cunning. "When I escape Apocrypha, Zin, only then, will we crown an emperor. Not before."

Zin shook her head, turning away. "I'm taking the boy with me, Miraak. Whenever you think your plan is ready, return. In the meantime, this boy will grow into the leader you wanted."

When she turned back, Miraak was gone. She let out an angry huff and spun back to the house. She saw the boy standing not far within, hiding in the shadows, peering at her with his eyes still wide. "It's going to be okay," she told him softly. "It _is_ going to be okay." She tried not to let Miraak's words get to her, but in the end, she knew he was right. No one would allow a half-Altmer to rule them, no matter how much dragonblood he had.

 _One plan thwarted after another. Where do we go from here?_

"Mother is dead..." Jyrath whispered. "I didn't know her for very long...and now she's gone... Who was that angry man?"

"No one important at the moment," Zin returned. "Come on, we need to arrange a funeral for your mother. Do you know where your father is?"

The boy hesitated. "He... The elves took him."

Zin wondered if the reason the boy was so calm was because he was in shock. "We'll figure this out," she assured him, but he was now staring blankly at the wall, seeming to have lost focus.

The ice mage felt herself become agitated again. _It's just like Miraak to leave me to clean up this mess..._

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **A/N -** No dovahzul to translate._

* * *

 _Boom, plot twist! Weren't expecting that, were you? ;)_


	38. Children of the Dragonborn

~D~

XXXVIII. Children of the Dragonborn

(Kiirre do fin Dovahkiin)

Miraak emerged from Apocrypha into the cold world. In the moonlight, dead, barren trees casted twisted shadows on the ground. The snow around him seemed discolored, gray. It drifted up like downy feathers with each step he took. He paused and inhaled through his mask. Instead of the freezing wetness he expected, he coughed dry, smoky powder. He felt a surge of surprise. Not snow, he realized, even though it was certainly cold enough to be it. Instead, it was ash, coating the land around him as well as drifting up lazily into his face.

 _Ash? What has happened here?_ He wondered, narrowing his eyes. He felt amazement to see just as much ash as there was snow covering the soil. He couldn't shake suspicion running into him that the land felt...dead, somehow. A cold wind stirred, flowing through the eye slits of his mask. It smelled like the aftermath of a great fire, as if the world had just been burned. He concentrated, assuring himself that magic still lingered, interwoven into the fabric of creation surrounding him. _This land..._ _I remember now what happened._ The words drifted through his mind. The _Red Mountain exploded and covered much of Morrowind in an ash cloud. Solstheim is close to Morrowind. It must have been affected, too._

Despite the empty feel, it was wonderful to be in the land that he'd once ruled - to be on Solstheim. This was where his temple would be, if it had withstood the passage of millennia in any degree. Miraak turned his attention to the two moons far overhead to get his bearings, the breeze stirring his robes. For a moment, he stood still, allowing himself a private moment of nostalgia.

He heard a voice speak behind him, cutting into his thoughts with rude precision. "What the-?"

He spun around, his gaze locking onto a man with the oddest armor he'd ever seen with his own eyes. The armor was a pallid yellow in color, and layered like the scales of a dragon. However, it appeared more like the shell of an odd insect than the layered armor of a dovah. In the dark slot of the stranger's helmet, dark red eyes peered out. The back of the headpiece formed the shape of an elongated cranium, alien and vaguely disturbing. Gray cloth draped over the armor in certain places, presumably an attempt to keep the ash out, however successful that was.

"Who are ya?" Asked the man in a Dunmer accent.

 _An elf._ Miraak squared his shoulders, irritation sparking inside of him. "I should be asking _you_ that. We're in the middle of nowhere!"

To his pure annoyance, the man sputtered in laughter. "Ya stupid n'wah. Well, if ya really wanna know, then how's this one? I'm the one who's going to gut ya and see if that ridiculous mask or sword are worth a bit of coin!" The man charged forward with his axe raised.

The dragon inside Miraak reared its head, jaws opening in anger. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" he Shouted. The armored man collapsed, shrieking, engulfed in flames. "Worthless bandit!" He growled as the elf's ashes joined that of the land's.

More of the fools arrived within seconds, all wearing various armors. Some of them wore armor similar to the first bandit, while others had a pinkish, chitin-plated type that covered them completely from head to toe. They emerged from ash-covered bushes and trees, yelling in fury. He brandished his staff in their direction, unleashing toxic tentacles upon them. They dropped, trapped in and speared on the boneless limbs. Poison soon burned them alive from the inside out. They shrieked in agony and tried to escape, but their attempts were futile. The outlaws did not move again.

Miraak walked away from the bodies, his gaze drawn to a distant campfire that he hadn't noticed until now. He assumed this was where they'd come from. He made his way towards it, his senses on high alert for more danger. He found his way into a circle of wooden walls that had made up their encampment, sighting more movement within. He readied for another fight.

He spotted two dark elves, one male, one female, sitting a fair distance from the fire. Their faces turned towards him. He saw the fear in their eyes. Miraak approached them, sizing them up for potential threats.

 _No. Not bandits. Prisoners...to those bandits._ He mused, noting that their hands and feet were bound. He stopped before them. "You will not be so foolish to attack me, will you?" He asked, his tone knowing.

They shook their heads negatively. "N-no, sir," said the male, his voice trembling somewhat. "A-are you h-here to help us?"

"Consider it pure luck that I happened to choose this part of the land in which to enter Nirn... As for you - if you are not my enemy, I will free you."

"No, Serah, we are not your enemy!" Exclaimed the woman. "We were kidnapped on our way back from trading with the Skaal... I think they thought I was someone important, and they must have sent a ransom note or something and it was all very frightening and..."

Miraak ignored her rambling and took a dagger to their bonds.

"Thank you, Serah. What is the name of our rescuer?" The elf asked, rubbing his arms.

"I am Miraak, dragonborn, and the rightful owner of this..." He scowled under his mask, realizing that Solstheim really had become just as unimpressive and dull as its current, apparent inhabitants, "...half-burned rock."

"Dragonborn?" The Dunmer asked, the rest of that sentence lost on him. "That is a Nord word, I think... And Shouting is too. Was that what we heard? Shouting? Incredible." He looked at his companion. "I have a friend who is a Nord. You remember him? He told me about it over drinks one night... Yes, I remember now. You've heard of the dragonborn, Draena, right!? There was a prophecy...right! Indeed, a dragonborn." He looked at Miraak, impressed.

"What, Daneros?" Draena asked, bemused. "I don't understand."

Miraak measured them. They weren't warriors by any stretch. They didn't even seem to have any characteristics to mark them apart from their brethren who plodded dully and pointlessly through an empty life...but he knew he had to start somewhere. "There is much for me to do. And I will require the assistance of others. I can give you both purpose. You have sought that, have you not? You claim you know the legend of the dragonborn, Daneros, so you know I speak truth. I have been gone for too long, but it is time for my return."

Daneros was now fully awed, but Draena continued to look lost. "I guess...if there is anything we can do for you," she said at length, "Ask it. It's the least we can do after your help."

Daneros nodded all to happily in agreement.

"There is something you can do for me," Miraak said, pleased at their eagerness in spite of his misgivings. "When you are ready, go to the stone upon the hill. There is a dragon graveyard atop the old mound - by it, a ruined temple. Meet me there, and I shall prepare for my true return. Others will arrive...eventually. When all have arrived, I shall address you personally."

Miraak saw the man nod enthusiastically. He turned from them and opened a portal. He heard a gasp from one of the elves, and he passed into Apocrypha. _I now know the perfect way to gather supporters. It is logically flawless._

The dark elves watched him disappear before them. Then, they glanced at each other.

"I say we go there now," Daneros said, folding his arms.

"What? What about food?"

"We'll just take some from these...dead bandits."

"But what about the...?" Draena sighed. "Alright, fine, husband. It's only fair, after that...dragon-guy - or whatever he's called - rescued us, I know. Hmmm, I suppose it'll be like an adventure. I've never been on a real adventure. It might be interesting. And if this dragon-guy is really serious, then I bet there's going to be all sorts of excitement and mystery and…" She rambled on as she followed Daneros around the camp.

* * *

Miraak knew he was feeling great. It had been a very long time since he'd taken control of his situation, and now he had. He had exerted the talent he held in being a natural leader, and carried out his simple and perfect, yet time-consuming, plan. There were many impressionable men and women on the island, and even in Skyrim that had answered his call when he'd made it. As for the reason why it'd worked at all; he'd found them all in terrible situations, praying for help to their precious gods and ancestors, be they Aedra, Daedra or long dead relatives. But _he_ had been the one to pull a mother from the fire, to kill the bear mauling a hunter, to extend a hand to a drowning child, to pull the sailors from the wreckage of their ship, to slay the dangerous vampire in its den, to drop the ashy abominations that had risen in the wastes to descend on a lone wanderer, and to save countless others who had been close to death.

He had delayed their deaths, for they had purpose yet - to serve him.

It was necessary. It was the only way to bring peace back to the world.

He'd spent weeks on this endeavor. It hadn't always paid off, of course. Not all had been grateful, and a few had even cursed him, but he knew the number of those who had responded positively far outweighed those that had responded negatively. Many of these people were now gathered at the temple - his temple. They were mostly Dunmer, for they were the closest to his seat of power. Also, he did not want word of a dragonborn spreading very far quite yet, so he had kept this campaign to Solstheim. They waited for him here in the forgotten ruins, and he would give them what they wanted - a reason, a mission...a new life.

He moved down the broken hallway of his ancient temple. By now, it was almost unrecognizable. The throne room was reduced to rubble, and only a fraction of it remained. Most of the hallways were collapsed, and there were few areas that could actually serve their intended purpose again without a decent amount of work. Ironically, the ancient skeleton of his first kill, Sosvulzein, still hung from the ceiling, somehow hanging on even through the passing of thousands of years. Around the remaining areas, dragon remains were spread about, broken with age - trophies of a forgotten era.

A few draugr still wandered around, but he'd taught most of the mages in his group how to command them to new purpose. They would only attack those who were deemed intruders. The only problem they had faced so far was having a steady food supply out in the middle of nowhere, and Miraak had set hunting parties on it. He'd also ordered Daneros, who was a merchant, to use his connections to move more necessities to the temple.

 _All in all, it is going smoothly._

As he paced, he observed Daneros standing before a group of others, speaking to them severely. "...This is the sort of thing that I am talking about! Move that bone over there, you bloody n'wahs! You're going to make this place look dumpier than it already is, putting it _here_!" He spotted Miraak, and turned. "Er, I meant no disrespect, of course, Lord Miraak."

"That is good to hear," the dragonborn answered in amusement. "Assemble the supporters outside. There is much to discuss."

"Perhaps we need to discuss a _name,_ my lord," Daneros said. "I mean, for all of us. Together. Doing good work. We have to be called...something. Just don't let my wife try to convince you that the _Great Adventurers_ sounds good... We aren't even adventuring!"

Miraak shifted, still trying to accustom himself to the way this elf spoke on a regular basis. It was so...informal. "Ah. A name. I haven't considered one before now. I'll have to think on it."

 _What should it even be?_ he thought. _Zin said that those who exalt their leader in this age name themselves after that leader... That is absurd though. No. These people will not share my name. Not my exact name, anyway. How would that even work?_

Daneros turned and left while the rest of the group in that room went after him. Miraak continued to ponder that question. Miraak gave them time before he too went after them.

When the supporters had gathered outside as he'd asked, Miraak addressed them, standing before them on a raised mound of dirt. He let his instinct as a leader guide him, and he felt the ease with which it returned to him. Fire built in his heart, in his mind, and he knew what he must do. He knew that for the first time in a long time, he had hope...and he had power. He had followers again.

It was enough to inspire him, just as he knew he would be enough to inspire _them_.

"My loyal servants," he addressed them in a loud, clear voice. "I have waited. I have waited and watched. And all I saw of this world in that time was chaos, a constant state of turmoil. Most of you know this. You have seen firsthand the pain and suffering all endure...but you are better than that now because of what you endured. You are above that. You want to end it...and that is why you have come to me. My time to return to this realm in full is nearing, and I will require your assistance to bring order to this world."

He raised his arms. "You will build. You will work on restoring the temple, eventually, but first, you will build the shrines to the Stones of the island. Some of you know them as the All-Maker Stones. Some of you have no idea they exist save for the one very close to here. What they are, though, is quite simple. They are the focal points for the magicka of the land - where it pools most strongly. We will harness these points of power."

"My people- I mean, the Skaal, that is, will object," a man stated, folding his arms. "Strongly, Lord. They hold those stones sacred."

"Unfortunately, they are too bound in their own beliefs to understand the importance of what we do. If you want to bring peace, then you will do this task. The power of those stones are necessary. I _know_ you will secure them," he stated, empowering them as best he could with his words. He turned to the loyal dark elf standing on the side, who he motioned to step forward. "This man, if you are not yet aware, is named Daneros. Know him well. For now, he is in charge of the operations. I now gift him the schematics of the shrines I require."

Miraak seemingly materialized a set of papers from his robes. He gave them to the eager elf. "Daneros, I gift this to you before the eyes of all who stand here tonight. By my will, you will herald great change for this world."

The Dunmer's eyes shone and he accepted the parchment reverently. "Thank you, Lord Miraak."

Draena grinned.

Miraak stated, "You will begin work on these shrines as soon as possible." He paused, then continued thoughtfully, "...perhaps after you've made the temple more livable." He turned his gaze to them all, the familiarity of assuming command comforting. Here, he smiled to himself. "Daneros has asked that I bestow upon you a name. A name for your group. A name for your purpose... I have chosen such a name."

He paused for a moment.

"In honor of what you will strive for and what you represent, I name you my Children, for you are younger, more naïve, but full of promise. I am wiser, older, and I will guide you as a parent would - to do good in the world. I will teach you how."

He watched a wave of certainty wash over them. They understood. They felt this purpose, uniform throughout. He hadn't realized just how mighty a name could be until he witnessed its power for himself just now.

The dragonborn ended by saying, "And now, I must leave you. I will return soon, however, and until then, I expect my orders to be carried out to the best of your abilities."

* * *

Miraak picked up the book and allowed his eyes to trace the opening line, even though it was just another one of the millions in Apocrypha. No matter. He was relaxed in his satisfaction, this time, and focusing was easier than ever before. In his newfound sense of ambition, he could find interest in even the mundane. It was a potent interest, the kind that brought the desire for knowledge into his heart. His hopelessness had been destroyed, which had improved his state of mind.

And he knew, that he was once again himself, as he was meant to be.

Work was coming along splendidly at the temple, Miraak mused to himself. He had visited several times, always impressed by the progress his devoted followers had made during his absences. Daneros had a surprisingly level head on his shoulders, too. He was equipped with a good sense on how to handle the temple. Miraak had underestimated the elf. The capable Dunmer and his wife had managed to recruit even more followers. Along with that, the temple was livable again, and groundwork for the shrines had finally been laid out. It was only a matter of time now, before construction began.

Why hadn't he thought to do this sooner?

He felt the presence of the Lord of Apocrypha before the Daedra spoke. The dragonborn turned to him, setting the book aside.

 _What is it now?_ He wanted to ask.

"Gather the dragons, Miraak," Mora commanded. "Those that serve you. Summon them to Apocrypha... The Triad, and your servant, Sahrotaar, specifically."

"What? Why?" Miraak asked, confusion building in his heart. "I was under the impression that you did not want them here."

"All will become clear... My _Champion_..." Hermaeus Mora replied cryptically. "Do as I have commanded..." There was a strange undertone to those words.

Wariness crept over Miraak, a wave of disturbing emotions swirling in his chest. He could sense something...off about this.

Glancing at the Daedra once, he turned away. He opened a portal and summoned those specific dragons by their names. His master had never shown a particular interest in these dragons before, and why should he want them to come here, now?

 _What is going on?_

Mindahrel, one of the Triad, arrived first, followed swiftly by his identical brothers, Kruziikrel and Relonikiv. Sahrotaar soared into the portal a while later, landing agilely with the others. During the entire time it took the dragons to arrive, both Miraak and Mora exchanged no words. The gray triplets and the Serpentine shifted around each other, adjusting themselves into more comfortable stances. Miraak stood in the center of them on that stretch of metal in Apocrypha. He could feel Sahrotaar eyeing him shrewdly, and Miraak knew the dragon sensed his disquiet.

His gaze rose to the sky where the lord of this realm waited. "It is done, Master," he said to break the continuing silence leaving him even more on edge.

Even worse, more time passed in silence, and the Daedra simply watched those below him.

Miraak felt his senses sharpen, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Mora spoke finally, and his tone was damning, "As much as you have endeavored, Miraak. As much as you have tried to hide your actions... I have learned of your intentions... You wished to hide it from me, but it is useless...to keep secrets from me... I am the master of secrets... You plan to betray me...after everything I have done for you. You wish to try and leave my realm, forever... To... _rebel against me_." He dragged every word out with cold certainty.

Miraak froze, his heart jumping into his throat. His hands and feet grew numb. His pulse raced. He swallowed. "No," he responded. He shook his head. "You are mistaken, Master. I have no such int-"

A screech of agony exploded from nearby. Miraak's gaze fixed on Mindahrel. The dragon was impaled by several tentacles, suspended in the air. His dark blood rained down. Relonikiv and Kruziikrel both roared in anger and pain. Miraak knew the Triad shared a special connection beyond them being mere siblings; they could feel each other's torment. They stomped forward and reared up, eyes locked upon the injured dragon.

Mora spoke lazily, "Call your pets off, Miraak, unless you wish them to share this fate...along with _you_..."

 _Not now. Not when I am so close._ "Stand down," Miraak ordered, voice grim. "Both of you!"

"Thuri!" Snarled Kruziikrel, twisting his head to eye the dragonborn. "He is dying. Our strength as the Triad will be lost if he perishes!"

"Save our brother," pleaded Relonikiv, flinching. He stared at the former dragon priest, despair lacing his next words, "He is _loyal_ to you, Master Miraak! He has _never_ failed you! You must help him!"

Miraak felt shame in his heart, but he knew he had no choice. "I... I cannot, Relonikiv. Do not ask again. None of us have the power to rescue him..."

The strength drained from Mindahrel, who slumped in the tentacles. Relonikiv and Kruziikrel began to shriek. Their triplet's life faded away, and they dropped to floor, writhing. Miraak clenched his jaw, watching them.

"This is hard, Thuri," Sahrotaar spoke as softly as a dragon could. "But there is no choice."

Miraak whispered, "There was a choice...one that I made so foolishly, long ago... I already regret his fate...and mine..." He looked at the metal under his feet. He was already certain that his own death would be soon.

 _And Zin will never know what happened..._

Mora dropped the dead dragon. The two remaining brothers lay inert upon the floor. The dragonborn gritted his teeth, anger swelling inside of him. The corpse of Mindahrel began to glow, and then, the soul poured off of it, flowing into Miraak. For once, he did not welcome the dragon soul, even though he felt it, warm and powerful within him. It was a very ancient soul, one of many memories and even more power.

"You've made your point, _Master_ ," he growled, stepping forward. "What will you do next? I wonder." He was not looking forward to it, but he knew he was ready for the fear he felt eating at him to end.

The Daedra whispered, "I must admit...I am disappointed... You thought you could so carelessly betray me and succeed... I deem you no longer worthy to be my Champion."

The dragonborn held his breath.

"To be fair...however," Mora continued. "Miraak, you have done everything I have asked of you since you came to me. It would be...wrong to not give you a chance to earn my forgiveness..."

 _Will he allow me to live?_

"I suggest...a...challenge..."

"A challenge?" Miraak asked in bemusement. "You mean...?"

The Daedra Lord ignored him. "If you reach the Summit of Apocrypha...before I kill you, I will give you some time to gather your strength, and then allow you to redeem yourself...in a fight against my next Champion. If you do this, and then show me your loyalty...you may once again serve me."

Miraak stared in disbelief. Then, he forced himself to scoff accordingly, to bluff, "You will not kill me now! You know the usefulness of my power! You would not throw it away!" He didn't believe his own words; they were merely one last attempt to reason with the Daedra.

"You have grown very arrogant, Miraak... If you truly do not believe that _I will kill you_..." Mora snarled, " _Then you will stand there and die_."

Miraak spun to Sahrotaar, leaping onto the dragon's neck. The dragon rose into the air without a word, the world rushing by him with speed as he ascended.

"GOL HAH DOV!" Miraak Shouted in desperation.

Metal rose around them, dark spires twisting before the dragon, protecting him temporarily. Miraak concentrated on using Apocrypha as a shield. Hermaeus Mora attacked, shattering the metal like it were ice. The tentacle shot forward, grazing the Serpentine's neck. The dovah yowled and reeled away, sweeping his wings to move onward.

The Daedra said, "perhaps you will learn...that I am not one to be _deceived!_ "

Sahrotaar jerked sideways, a large tentacle slicing through the edge his right wing. Miraak felt the mighty creature flinch in response. It wasn't long before another of the limbs emerged from the sea of green, slashing into the dragon's shoulder. He snarled and twisted upwards, dark crimson seeping from his flesh.

"He is toying with us!" Miraak growled, anger filling him.

It wasn't fair. He was fleeing for his life, and yet, he knew the Daedra was _not_ actually trying to kill him. As long as he ran away, the Lord of Apocrypha would make only non-fatal strikes. It was only a game to him. He let his servant get away...because he wanted him to. For a while, they were without any further attacks. Silence permeated the atmosphere. The empty air felt unusually cold. The dragonborn could not sense the Prince's presence anywhere tangible.

 _He will strike again. Where is he?_

 _He is nowhere...and everywhere,_ his dragon instinct whispered. _This is his realm...he_ is _this realm. There is no way to resist._

"I hear nothing, Thuri," Sahrotaar supplied. Miraak could sense faltering movements in the dragon's flight. He missed a wing flap and started to fall. He writhed madly until he was airborne again. Miraak clung to the dragon and tried to locate the injury responsible, but all his eyes could pick out were the bloodied wounds on the dovah's shoulder and neck. His servant lost more altitude, struggling. He could sense great fatigue from the other through their connection.

"Sahrotaar, what is the problem?" Miraak asked, hanging onto the webbing on the serpentine's neck for balance.

Sahrotaar spoke wearily, "I think...I have lost too much blood…or perhaps Apocrypha is draining away my _suleyk_...do you remain unaffected?"

Miraak responded, "I do not feel that drain anymore. I overcame it long ago."

Sahrotaar sunk. His wings locked in flight and he soared.

 _He cannot rise again._

Miraak muttered, "Hang in there, Sahrotaar, just concentrate on my willpower."

 _Hermaeus Mora will realize it soon if he has not already,_ he thought in mental panic. _No. He is aware. He did this on purpose._ He hated feeling this way, paranoid and helpless. He struggled to give the dovah any help he could. He directed power to the Serpentine, his heart pounding in his ears.

Unfortunately, he seemed unable to rise again, even with Miraak's help.

 _Why?!_

"Sahrotaar!" Miraak snapped.

The dragon did not respond. The sea of green rose closer. Using his will, Miraak quickly concentrated on the dark water below. The waves rippled. A metal platform rose up just as Sahrotaar slammed into it. The force flung his rider through the air. Miraak hit the ground, hard. He slid a few feet before he managed to brace himself. He halted. His eyes stared into green waters so close, the fingers of his right hand were nearly touching it. He scrambled back, his thoughts swirling wildly.

"REL ONIKIV!" Miraak Shouted desperately. "KRUZIIK REL!" _Where are they?_

The man turned to Sahrotaar. He was unmoving upon the platform. Fortunately, he was not dead. The rising and falling of his chest was obvious. Weakened by Apocrypha and Mora's combined might, the beast had never stood a chance against their impossible foe.

A force slammed into Miraak from behind. He gasped in agony. He seized, feeling the power draining from him. Dark, angry thoughts filled his mind, but he knew they were not his own. Faint images passed across his vision, a promise of what awaited him for his betrayal. His fear intensified, even as he was paralyzed.

"You shouldn't have defied me, Miraak," Hermaeus Mora whispered. "Do not worry though... I won't kill you... _yet_... I will _break_ you, first."

Relonikiv snarled and crashed into the tentacle, snapping it in half with his powerful jaws. His claws closed around Miraak and he lifted into the air. Hermaeus Mora lashed out for them, but Kruziikrel darted in. He breathed fire in a vain attempt to halt the Daedra. He only succeeded in taking the attack to his own body. He cried out. Kruziikrel thrashed, trapped and writhing in Hermaeus Mora's grasp. Miraak struggled to command the dragons. His breath was broken though, and he could not speak for several moments. Finally, the dragonborn inhaled and summoned Apocrypha once again with his Bend Will. A portal opened and Relonikiv folded his wings and shot through it.

The Summit was below. The dragon dived for it.

Hermaeus Mora appeared above them, his endless eyes bright and glistening. They seemed full of hatred.

"Drop me," Miraak commanded, "Relonikiv. Then, distract him."

The dragon released Miraak, who descended rapidly. He slammed into the platform a moment afterward, inhaling on impact. He winced, but forced himself to his feet. He witnessed Relonikiv leaping upwards, becoming entangled with the Daedra he couldn't hope to beat for his Thuri.

"TIID KLO UL!" Miraak Shouted.

The world slowed around him.

He breathed in and out, in and out. Miraak raised his hands, clearing his mind in the odd peacefulness that came with the sudden leisure. On instinct, he remembered his time with the Dwemer, so long ago. Reaching for the fabric of Apocrypha, he pulled the magicka from the depths of that potential. The intrinsic power of Tamriel also formed a connection to the Summit; he commanded it, too, converting the magicka it held with his willpower. He gathered these threads of energy like the reins of several mighty steeds, taking control of them.

The Shout faded.

Relonikiv screeched, and his voice was drowned out. The boneless limbs slithered past the dragon towards Miraak. Discomfort filled him, as if they had already reached him, but he ignored it.

He enacted the spell born from the power he'd gathered. A wall of shimmering light rose from the tower. It slammed close in a dome above Miraak, surrounding the Summit in a perfect sphere, severing the green arms in its area of effect smoothly. They thudded heavily onto the tower.

Relonikiv tumbled through his barrier, passing through it unharmed. He also hit the Summit nearby. The ground shuddered. He was bleeding fiercely, covered in injuries, but struggling to rise.

Miraak sank to his knees, an ache building in his chest and head. He looked up to the massive eyes gazing down at him. He hissed out air, pushing his foot forward. He rose into a stance, feeling his legs tremble in effort. He could not rest now. Miraak pulled more magicka from Apocrypha into the barrier, channeling it against the Daedra.

 _And what did Alessia do to block the Daedra from Nirn?_ That instinct seemed to whisper.

He furrowed his brow. _Am I not at the edge of Oblivion here? Close to Tamriel?_ With a wave of his hand, he summoned a dagger and sliced his own arm. His dragonblood dripped onto the metal, seeping into the tower. He felt its power coalescing below him, and it wove into the world, growing like roots into the shield he'd created. Miraak found the action comforting. The energy rushed through the magickal barricade, which slowly became invisible. He found that he did not fully understand why he had just done such an action beyond it feeling correct in the moment.

Mora simply continued to watch, as if fascinated.

The dragonborn stood there, gasping in exhaustion. Blood still dripped into the metal under his feet.

Hermaeus spoke with finality, "And so you have...reached the _Summit of Apocrypha_ , the entry of knowledge... This has been...educational, Miraak... I find this...fitting... You will remain here, on the Summit as I said, until I am ready for you to die or submit in humiliation before me." Hermaeus Mora faded from view.

Miraak dropped into a sitting position, his muscles feeling weak and useless.

 _At least I am still alive..._

* * *

.

* * *

 ** _Dovahzul Translations -_**

 _Thuri - My Lord_  
 _Dovah - Dragon_  
 _Suleyk - power_  
 _Tiid Klo Ul(Shout) - Time Sand Eternity_  
 _Gol Hah Dov(Shout) - Earth Mind Dragon_


	39. Elven Blood

_**A/N** _ \- _Please note_ , _I have added some things to the first part of this chapter. (The part before the first line break)_ _I want to thank Aurora Nova for her review - it pointed out a couple things I probably should have added before posting. Now, they are added._

* * *

 _._

* * *

~D~

XXXIX. Elven Blood

(Fahliiluv Sos)

Zin paced back and forth in the garden, her mind juggling her various problems. Amongst them, was Miraak. She had not seen him since he'd left for Apocrypha the night they'd found Evesel dying and her son in a cabinet, cowering for his life. She wondered if Miraak had given up on finding a dragonborn heir. She had assumed he would return when he'd calmed down, but unless his temper had lasted all these years, something was very wrong. And even if he had given up on his plans, why wouldn't he come back to see _her_? Before now, he'd often visited. He'd never let so much time pass before.

In Miraak's absence, she had found herself unable to explain that night to Jyrath, especially since she did not know what it meant for his future. The boy had asked for an explanation to those events only a few times when he was much younger, but she had encouraged him not to concern himself over it. Eventually, he'd quit bringing it up altogether.

Despite her never broaching the subject of dragonblood with the boy, she hadn't completely ignored his truths. She'd begun to teach him how to fight with a blade, as well as magicka. Unfortunately, the half-elf had little patience to learn of magicka, seeming to take more to his mother's side. He had only learned to command a few simple spells in the time he'd spent with Zin. He became frustrated with devoting much time to anything more complex. Instead, she'd found that his patience was infinite only when he was holding a blade and shield in his hands. She knew then that he was a warrior before anything else. He'd proven a natural at swordplay.

And she had grown quite fond of him over time - like she had another son. Being his mentor, though frustrating at times, reminded her of her own connection to him. While he had Miraak's blood in him, he also had hers, too. Even without that connection though, she was certain that she would feel a mother's love for him, having put much effort into raising him to adulthood.

She would keep training him, too, until there was a reason otherwise. Maybe he would eventually find the patience to learn more magicka... It was all she could do at the moment. She didn't want to try to teach him any Shouts until his dragonblood was awakened, because so far, he'd showed little signs of it.

And that meant waiting for Miraak... Because she did not want to spend years teaching Jyrath how to meditate on Words of Power.

 _Gods forbid..._ She thought.

"Zin," said a voice behind her.

She turned, staring at the young man a few paces away. She noted his usual confident posture, that slight tilt to his head. His amber eyes contrasted starkly with his pale skin. And if that weren't enough indicator of his elven lineage, his ears pointed sharply. He was dressed in armor she'd gifted him not long ago. He had a helmet under his arm and a bag slung over one shoulder.

"Jyrath," she greeted in turn. "Why are you wearing that?" She asked.

"I...came to say thank you," he started quietly, "and...to say farewell."

"You're leaving," she said. She felt a rush of sorrowful emotions in her heart, but she wasn't surprised. Her throat tightened. Of course, she hadn't been blind to the fact that he'd been leaving the house far more often lately, sometimes for days at a time, and he'd never explained these absences to her. Whenever she'd asked, his answers were evasive, at best.

"Yeah. I've..." He stopped, exhaling, then started again, "I've decided I'll go and join the Legion. Become a soldier. I just...feel like I have purpose beyond this, and I know I won't find it here. I kept waiting, Zin, expecting... Well, expecting you to tell me I was dragonborn."

She felt her eyes widen involuntarily. This boy - no, grown man, she realized; he was a boy no longer - remembered the conversation she'd carried with Miraak so long ago.

"But I had... _have_ doubts," he continued, never breaking eye-contact. "That man you spoke with that night seemed more than a little disappointed. I wasn't good enough to be dragonborn, or whatever he was looking for. He left, and you felt sorry for me. End of story."

Zin sighed. "That's not _exactly_ what happened," she replied.

"I can tell you're waiting for him," Jyrath went on, "and he hasn't come back. If he were going to, he would have by now. I don't care, though. I don't know him. I never will. I don't even want to anymore. I will go and seek my own destiny. I'm not waiting around for nothing."

The mage inhaled the fresh scents of the garden, feeling a mix of emotions swirling through her heart. How did she respond to this? His leaving, and now his understanding of what she'd never explained to him? Did he think she'd simply kept it from him? Jyrath had never mentioned the dragonblood before, and she'd always figured the boy hadn't even known. She'd underestimated him. She'd always been aware that he was a smart and good boy, but he also had a certain way of detaching himself emotionally from various situations. It was always unsettling when he did so, but she knew he still had the Altmer in him, to some extent. The self-control that showed when he wielded a blade also showed in how he'd waited to play this card until now.

She smiled a little, and despite her regret, she chuckled to herself.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm impressed, Jyrath," she said. "You remind me of Zoortah...someone I once knew, long ago."

"Was that the man in the mask?"

"No. Zoortah is dead." She shook her head to clear away those thoughts. "I understand, Jyrath. If you feel that this is the right course of action for you, then follow it. It would be wrong of me to say no, when I am so unsure if... Join the Legion, and make your own path through the world. You do not need my help any longer." Here she smiled with sorrow, "I will miss having you around though, to pass on my knowledge to."

"You _were_ an excellent teacher," he conceded with a smile. "And those skills will keep me alive when I become a soldier."

"Are you disappointed?" Zin asked, "that he did not return?"

"Well, if I said I wasn't at first, I'd be lying," Jyrath returned. "But I now know that I'm better off this way. I'm not angry or disappointed anymore. I realize this is far more interesting. Who needs the power of a dragonborn, anyway?" He smirked at that last sentence. "I don't care who the man in the mask is. I'm leaving him in the past."

Zin moved over to elven man. She placed a hand on his tall shoulder, and gave him her most supporting smile. It was hard for her. "You're a good man, Jyrath. A brilliant young man. A great warrior... I'm proud of you. Follow your instincts...and your heart." She dropped her arm.

She was surprised when he hugged her. "Thank you, Zin. I will never forget you."

Perhaps he wasn't as emotionally detached as she'd just thought.

She blinked, registering that he was walking away. And the tears came, swift and unbidden. She swallowed, wiping them off her face.

Still fighting her tears, she sought a distraction for herself. _I must begin the search for Zoortah's body,_ she decided. Miraak _is right that we should revive no one else, but if those last pockets of the Dragon Order got ahold of his remains, I want to return them to their rightful place._ She looked to the sky. _How much longer will you make me wait, Miraak?_

* * *

Odahviing sailed through the night sky, the world illuminated by the sibling moons in the sky. His wings flapped. He could feel the rush of air across his scales, and he was relaxed, his stomach filled from his hunting. He rose on a draft, knowing that one of the best reasons to be dovah - besides the obvious power - was the amazing ability to fly. There was little greater. He closed his eyes, listening to the air rush by.

Instead, he heard the mighty flap of large wings above.

He felt claws hook into his scales. A heavy weight fell upon him, and he descended rapidly, howling in alarm. He struggled against his attacker, but the talons against his neck prevented him from moving. He slammed into a forest canopy and through many large tree branches before finally crashing to the ground, his assailant pinning him down. A tree collapsed, slamming into the ground nearby.

What dragon would attack him like this?!

A deep, familiar voice growled in the _dov_ language. "Odahviing! You have become complacent and lazy in the time that I was away! All that time has proven, is that dragonkind need my rule."

The red dragon twisted in alarm. "Alduin Thuri! I did not know you had returned!"

The massive black dragon stepped back. "The mortal races have infested this world like parasites in my absence," he spat in disgust. "They will all burn for betraying my rule!"

Odahviing stood slowly, turning his gaze upon the Firstborn of Akatosh. Red eyes glared back at him. He bowed his head in respect. "I have kept those dragons still alive together as best I could, Thuri."

Alduin snorted, fire leaving his nostrils. "Most of dragonkind have perished without my leadership. None of you could carry on our greatness and prestige without me... It is pathetic. Once again, I must conquer this world in fire and death...but this time, I will leave nothing behind. Go, Odahviing. Rally the remaining loyalists. I must see to the revival of more trusted generals... and I must find the dragonborn, and slay him!"

Odahviing started, "the one known as Miraak is trapped in Oblivio-"

"No, you fool," Alduin snarled, darkness swirling deep in his glowing eyes. "That dragonborn is not the threat. He is corrupted in the eyes of Akatosh, and cannot fulfill the prophecy of the dragonborn. No. The dragonborn of this generation is my enemy. I must find him and devour his soul!"

Odahviing bowed his head more, until his nose touched the grassy earth. "Yes, Thuri. I will gather the loyal dragons."

"See that it is done! I will bring our race glory, once again!"

Alduin leapt from the ground with enough force that his wings smashed through trees, and his claws sent earth flying through the air. He let out a furious roar as he ascended into the sky.

The red dragon knew that war was coming. Again.

* * *

Jyrath paced in the cold, early morning of the fort, rubbing his arms. He'd been shivering ever since he'd started his patrol an hour ago. Surely, the Nord blood in him was weak, for even a year in Skyrim had not acclimated him to below-freezing temperatures. He shook his head, gritting his teeth. He despised his elven side, even among the often multi-race Legion.

 _What I'd give to be fully human... My life would certainly have been better than it has been, so far. I wouldn't have had the shame of looking like this...of feeling like this..._

Not that he'd been unlucky in having one who knew combat raise him. His unfortunate elven-blood had just made social interactions more negative, in general.

He heard the crunch of footsteps and raised his gaze to the soldier walking toward him. The Imperial smiled a greeting. "As early as it is," she said. "I could almost go for a spot of mead." Her breath was changed instantly into frost in the air.

"Just a spot, Sirri?" The elven man replied, grinning. Her name was actually Rasoria, he knew, but she preferred begin called Sirri.

"Ah, who am I kidding?" Rasoria smirked back. "I could drink a whole friggin' barrel right about now."

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together for a small amount of warmth. He brought both together, blowing warm air onto them. "I think the only thing I inherited from Nords is my love of Mead...and If the rebels win this damn war, it'll be because they don't get cold," he growled good-naturedly.

"Ugh, Nords... I just want to go back to Cyrodiil."

"Agreed. I was actually hoping to be sent somewhere warmer when I signed up... Things rarely go my way, though."

The two continued talking to help take their minds from the temperature as they paced across the walls of the fort, keeping their eyes out for trouble. Despite hating the cold weather, he'd gotten used to this life not long after being recruited as Auxiliary for the Legion. He found that he enjoyed being a soldier...that was, when he was doing anything but standing(or patrolling) guard-duty. It was the absolute worst. Horse-riding, marching, fighting...all were much more welcome than this.

More than anything, though, he was proud of what he'd accomplished. A year had passed, and he finally felt like he had found his place in the world. He often wrote to Zin, whenever the couriers somehow made it back and forth alive, but even then, he found he had little to tell her of this new life. It always seemed to pale in comparison to the glory-stories he'd heard of the Legion as a boy. Still, he was not disappointed in his choice.

"I suppose the rebels will wait to attack until the coldest part of the year, on the coldest part of the night," he jested to Rasoria, "when we're all frozen in our beds, practically dead anyway."

"And the sentry's a block of ice," she chuckled.

As soon as the words left her mouth, there was a call from the top tower. "Riders on the road, approaching this way!"

Both soldiers became alert, their eyes locking onto the outer land of ice and snow where the mostly-buried road was. Indeed, a small group of dark shapes moved down the distant hills, barely able to be discerned as mounts.

"How many?" Someone called back in the still morning air.

"No more than a dozen! Probably less!" The sentry replied.

"Is it a caravan?"

"I don't think so. No wagon."

The fort commander, Legate Secundus, materialized on the stairs, traipsing up to the wall. His hand rested on his sword as he gazed upon the distant shapes. More soldiers gathered behind him, alert.

Sirri whispered, "It's probably not an attack. I don't think they would show themselves this early."

"Unless it's a distraction," Jyrath replied. "A prelude to an attack." Excitement rose into his chest at the thought. A skirmish would be far more welcome than the endless guard patrols he'd been doing all week, but he knew it was unlikely. Most Stormcloak raids came from wild-looking men and women adorned with bearskins upon short, stout, and shaggy Nordic horses. Even from this distance, it was obvious that these riders did not fit that description.

The fort held its breath until the riders were more clearly visible. At that point, they could make out the banner. The dark fabric waved plainly in the sunlight above the riders, embellished with a golden eagle.

Jyrath frowned. Why would _they_ be coming here?

"The Aldmeri Dominion approaches!" The commander called down the line of soldiers. "Prepare the proper welcome!"

Two horn-blowers moved outside to stand with the guards of the fort. Jyrath felt equal amounts of curiosity and distaste. Just like his elven blood, he despised the Thalmor. How could he not? They had never even looked his way before, but the few times he'd been in their presence, he could sense their distaste for all things even vaguely-related to humankind.

And that included him.

He turned to Sirri. "Do you suppose the first emissary lost her hairpins and sent these guys looking for 'em?" He asked lightly.

She chortled.

"Quit chatting, all of you!" Commander Secundus snapped. "I want absolute silence." He spun and marched down the stairs.

 _I'd hate to be him, right now,_ Jyrath thought.

The horns blared a welcome to the riders. The leader of the visitors was large, even for an Altmer. He was evidently a Justiciar. The elf wore purple-black robes with the typical golden eagle emblazoned on his cloak. A dark hood casted his face in shadows. He sat confidently upon a giant black stallion of the finest grooming and even finer breeding. His posture was perfectly straight and balanced, as if he had rode directly from a set of fancy stables in Alinor all the way to Skyrim on the back of that supreme beast, untiring and powerful. The steed pranced forward, proud and beautiful. It's mane rippled gently in the chilly wind.

A half a dozen Altmer soldiers paraded behind the Justiciar in two rows of three, their horses perfectly in step. The leaders of these short lines held banners of the Dominion colors, mostly black with purple and gold.

The horn calls faded as the gate was raised. The Justiciar and his horse marched through, the rider looking directly forward. The rest of the visitors paused outside the gates, waiting, silent, still.

"Greetings, Justiciar," The legate welcomed them in his warmest tone.

The elf did not even spare him a glance as he said, in an equally benign voice, "Do not worry, Commander Secundus. I will not be here long. There is a new set of directives from your...superiors...the Aldmeri Dominion."

He still did not look at the human standing below his horse.

"Why didn't they send a courier, then?"

"Ambassador Elenwen wished us to deliver the news personally to all Legion...strongholds. Your couriers are useless in this terrain, are they not?" The elf sniffed. "Bandits, trolls, spiders. No, there can be no excuse for why your Legion does not obey the rules. All Legionnaires must be made aware, and that includes those in this broken ruin in the middle of this gods-forsaken land."

He cast his gaze over the gathered soldiers in the courtyard, passing his eyes over them judgmentally. His attention was then drawn to those who stood on the battlement, a faint smirk upon his lips. Jyrath swore the Justiciar stared at him for just a moment, but he knew that was impossible. He wasn't even worth a split-second of eye-contact to this elf.

The Justiciar kept his faint, wolf-like grin. "After all, we wouldn't want there to be any _mistakes_ , would we?"

Jyrath found himself unable to quit staring at the elf. There was something familiar about him...

"No," Legate Secundus responded. "I should think not."

The elf laughed at that.

"Ugh," shuddered Rasoria. She whispered to Jyrath, "Makes one want to puke, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..." he agreed without really paying attention. Around them, the soldiers were already picking up quiet conversations. He watched the elf gracefully dismount, ordering the men to leave his horse alone. He only wished to speak with the commander for a few moments, and allow _him_ to convey the message to his own soldiers.

The two disappeared into the fort, and Jyrath shifted. He felt his gut knot. "I don't like this," he admitted to his friend, his eyes on that door. "That elf...there's something...about him."

Sirri snorted. "There's _something_ about all Altmer...no offense. You aren't so bad. Probably because you've got some human in you."

"Well, Aranel isn't _so bad_ , either," Jyrath responded, thinking of an Altmer soldier that he'd met upon arrival at the fort.

"True," she replied. "But I heard he grew up around humans. Probably why he's better than those fancy pricks out there."

He swiveled to her, "maybe it's not so simple as that."

"Maybe it is."

Another soldier paced by, "best not to talk about the elves like that while they're here. Rumor has it that they have the hearing of the eagles they wear on their clothes."

"Yeah, right!" Sirri shot back. "And you're gossiping just as much as everyone else, you know, Parren."

The man shrugged and continued on.

From the doors the Justiciar and legate had gone through, a soldier exited the keep. Jyrath watched his progress. He moved across the courtyard, and then stepped onto the stairs leading up to the balustrade. He took each step with swiftness, despite the ice and snow covering the fort.

"Come on, Jyrath," Rasoria said. "Your boots are going to freeze to the ground there if you don't get back to patrols."

Jyrath locked eyes with the soldier on the stairs. He found himself unable to move or look away.

He knew he was approaching him.

The man continued until he halted before him. "Jyrath the Danger-Seeker," he addressed. "Legate Secundus requests your presence in the Fort." He pivoted on his heel and strolled away.

Sirri stared at Jyrath. "Haven't heard _Danger-Seeker_ in a while," she commented, fidgeting with her hands.

Jyrath stared at her, "I think they may have heard what I said about the first emissary's hairpins."

"Go," she said. "You haven't done anything wrong, Jy. Most likely, Commander Secundus is trying to make a good show of his men, to impress those fops. He thinks you're a good soldier, you know?"

He swore he heard doubt in her voice.

With his feet feeling as if they were made of lead, he found himself tromping down the stairs into the snowy courtyard. He made his way towards the entrance into the fort, his mouth completely dry. He entered the slightly-warmer room, pacing down a hallway leading to the commander's headquarters. He swallowed, unable to push away the sensation of his tingling nerves. His heartbeat increased with each step that he took. He disliked being unable to guess what was waiting for him.

He paused before the door to the legate's office and knocked twice. "Auxiliary reporting in, Legate Secundus," he called, biting his lip afterward.

The door opened, and he was greeted by another auxiliary soldier. He recognized Aranel, the only pure-blooded Altmer soldier in the fort.

"Hello, Jyrath," he said. "Come on in." His face was grim.

 _That's not good._

He was concerned about the possibilities of why this man had also been called. But perhaps Sirri was correct. Perhaps Secundus hoped that calling Altmer soldiers would impress their visitor. Somehow, he doubted it. The half-elf did not dare ask Aranel why he looked as if he had lost a bag of gold.

He followed the Legion Altmer into the large room, where Commander Secundus sat at a desk. The Justiciar stood against a wall, his gaze locked upon the two soldiers who walked in. He had that unnerving smile on his face again, as if he'd never lost it.

Secundus stood, and turned to the soldiers, "Auxiliary, this is-"

"I'll handle introductions, Legate," The elf said with ease.

The legate slowly sat back down, silent as a grave.

Jyrath stared at the large elf, finding his desire to shrink into the floor and fade away growing. Aranel's facial expression was completely blank.

 _I hope that's how mine looks._ Jyrath thought, standing next to Aranel.

The Justiciar spoke. "I hear that you are the only soldiers with any amount of true mer blood here." He moved to stand before them, "and so, I greet you, in turn." He sized them both up, and his unnerving stare settled on the Altmer Legionnaire first. "Soldier... Aranel."

Aranel blinked twice, giving away surprise. It was obvious he had no idea what to say. "Greetings to you, Justiciar."

The Thalmor laughed somewhat. He switched his eyes to Jyrath. He stepped in front of him, towering over him several inches. The half-elf looked away from his cunning scrutiny.

"Jyrath," the Thalmor said, "...the Danger-Seeker. I have heard much about you."

"I don't see why you would have heard anything about an _inferior_ half-blood like me," The other replied without thinking. He froze as soon as the words left his mouth.

Aranel stared at him from the corner of his eye.

 _Damn my words,_ Jyrath thought. He certainly hadn't intended to say that. He met the elf's gaze cautiously, uncertain how he might react.

The Justiciar, however, only laughed once more. He then said, "It has occurred to many of us, that all elven blood is precious, Jyrath, no matter how diluted. Alas, I found myself disappointed that there are so few Mer here."

Legate Secundus shifted.

"Where was I?" The Thalmor asked himself. "Ah yes, introductions."

He looked at them directly, "Auxiliary Aranel and Jyrath, you may call me Justiciar Kaeyon. And I have a proposition for you." He locked eyes with Jyrath as he spoke. "And I am very much aware, Danger-Seeker, that you may know my name, as well."

And Jyrath did. His heart sank.

Kaeyon continued, "After all, you are my progeny."

* * *

Rasoria leaned against the wall in the courtyard, boredom on her face. However, there was concern in her gut. She didn't like the Thalmor - who did? - and it made her concerned for her friend, Jyrath. When she heard the sound of the fort doors opening, she turned her gaze to the half-elf approaching her. His face was twisted into an unhappy expression. She could see that he was as pale as a ghost.

"Sirri," he said, voice agitated. He reached her in a few strides. "I want to apologize." He glanced to the Justiciar now exiting the fort, Aranel at his side. Sirri watched the Altmer Legionnaire move towards the stables, while the Thalmor paused by the fort gate.

Jyrath looked back to her, and she noticed his amber eyes were narrowed and a scowl was upon his face. "That elf is named Kaeyon. He's carrying official orders that all with elven blood should report to Solitude immediately."

"What?" she asked. "Why?"

"I...don't know, but it didn't sound good."

Rasoria noticed Aranel leading a saddled horse out. He mounted it, gathering the reins in his hand. "Come on, Jyrath," called the elf. He turned the animal away.

He stared directly into her eyes. "Don't you see? I'm being ordered to go with him, Rasoria. I don't think... Well, I'm probably not coming back. I'm under the impression he wants to absorb...lesser elves into the Aldmeri Dominion as war fodder."

She stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. She lowered her voice. "That's... Jyrath... They can't just take Legion troops. You have to report this to General Tullius."

"General Tullius has sanctioned it!" The elven man whispered back harshly. "I saw his signature on the document."

"They can't pull our troops, especially not from the front line!"

"Well, they are!"

" _Jyrath_!" The elf called again.

"The thing is, Rasoria," he said, "I'm not going to go with him. That's not why I joined the Legion - to just be those damned elves' lackey. Instead, I'm going to steal his horse and get the hell out of here. That bastard looks faster than any steed I've ever laid eyes on."

"Wha-?"

The elven man spun around and marched towards the waiting Thalmor. "Justiciar Kaeyon," he said. He paused before the elf. The horse was a mere foot away, its saddle so invitingly empty.

Kaeyon stared at him. "Yes?"

Now it was Jyrath's turn to grin. "I'm going to take your horse."

It happened in a blur. Rasoria wasn't even really certain she was seeing things correctly. A bolt of lightning struck the unsuspecting Thalmor, knocking him off his feet. Jyrath leapt aboard the midnight steed and spurred it, howling at the top of his lungs like a man gone mad. The stallion whinnied and thundered through the gate, slamming into the remaining Thalmor, sending their horses stomping about in fear. Once the soldiers had their animals under control, they pursued, but Jyrath already had the lead.

She could only gaze in pure amazement. She hadn't really seen why Jyrath was labeled Danger-Seeker, despite the stories...but now she knew. He truly sought danger.

 _Or maybe he's really just not wanting to go with that elf._

Kaeyon pushed himself from the ground with a calmness that belied the situation. He straightened his stance, brushing snow from his robes. "That...boy..." He muttered under his breath. "He stole my horse, They'll never catch that horse. He has the finest breeding in all of Alinor." He rubbed his forehead. "Half-mutt didn't even lead on that he was going to do anything so...brash and utterly ridiculous."

He turned to the legate as he materialized from the fort, probably responding to the sound of the commotion. "Secundus," Kaeyon addressed him, "I require a courier to send a letter to Ambassador Elenwen. I will remain here, until another horse is sent. And I must alert your Legion of a desertion. Jyrath the Danger-Seeker. He cannot flee forever."

"Jyrath deserted?!" The legate demanded.

"Indeed." The Justiciar looked to Aranel, who sat upon a shaggy-furred horse. "Actually... We should make it two horses. That thing looks worse than a troll." With that, he turned and marched into the keep.

The soldiers that had gathered at the disturbance were beginning to gossip very loudly...and Rasoria was in the middle of it all.

* * *

 _._

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter.**_

 _ **No Dovahzul.**_


	40. Danger-Seeker

~D~

XL. Danger-Seeker

(Rut-Tovitaan)

Sahrotaar stomped across the platform, turning his gaze to the sky with a measure of concern. The vast, green cloudiness looked back at him, empty and devoid of hope. He turned and stormed back, uncertain what to do. Nearby, Relonikiv and Kruziikrel lay, their gazes dull and lost, their limbs and wings sagging upon the metallic floor.

Miraak sat cross-legged upon the ground, several paces away, watching the dovah. He was certain that the Serpentine had paced at least a hundred times. He'd never seen dragons in such a state before. Kruziikrel and Relonikiv were obviously distraught over the loss of their brother and of their united power. Their misery seeped off of them in waves, and the dragonborn knew that this was likely the only time he would see a dovah demonstrate such loss.

"Enough, Sahrotaar," he commanded, his voice weary. "There is little we can do at the moment."

"And what of the Daedra?" The serpent-dragon asked. "Will he not return to finish his work?"

"Hermaeus Mora is not one to pass up a good opportunity for...whatever it is he wants," Miraak informed him. "He will not attack us again. No, he'll find his _champion_ to do it for him." He spat, "just as he said he _would_. He wants to humiliate me..." He closed his eyes. "Now, stop pacing, it is incredibly distracting. I need to meditate."

"I do not like this, Thuri," Sahrotaar responded, lifting into the air. He hovered for a few seconds before he planted himself firmly upon one of the tall arches. "How long will he wait?"

"Until the person he wants comes along," Miraak guessed. "That could be a few thousand years from now, as far as I know... However, if you ever want to see Tamriel again, you will allow me to _concentrate_." He closed his eyes and pulled at the energies flowing around the Summit of Apocrypha.

Sahrotaar fell silent.

Miraak found it impossible to leave Apocrypha now, which had made him realized just how little control he'd truly had when he'd made those portals. It was a horrible feeling, knowing all his progress had been for naught. He now knew he was truly a prisoner, bound until this 'champion' faced off with him.

Still it left him with many questions. Hermaeus did not truly think he would find someone strong enough to face him, did he? And when this new champion fell, what would happen? Would Mora continue their sick, twisted game and search for another, or would he end it there and then? The former dragon priest doubted the Prince would ever let him back into his service...and he knew he would not want to run any more errands for that monster. He was done with serving the Lord of Apocrypha.

 _I have to find a way reconnect with Tamriel. It is my only chance._

He concentrated on those techniques he'd learned so long ago from the Dwemer, relying on the intricate knowledge of the world. Tamriel was held together by an invisible web of magicka, one that could only be felt through intense meditation. Apocrypha had a similar structure, and he felt it even more strongly, since his barrier had been erected. Not only that, he had felt his connection to it strengthen ever since he'd dripped his blood onto the Summit of Apocrypha. He knew it was possible to manipulate it, overlap its magicka with the energies pouring in from Nirn, and it was much easier now. It would simply require similar techniques to those he'd used before to create the barrier. Only this time, it would be to serve a new purpose.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to focus on his steady breathing, and the darkness beyond his eyelids. The power thrummed under him, and it felt alive. He allowed it to flow through him, his thoughts, his hands.

 _Sahrotaar,_ he thought to the dragon. _Meditate with me. It may help you._

 _Yes, Thuri._

Miraak relaxed himself, and drifted into the darkness beyond, losing his consciousness to the magicka in Hermaeus Mora's realm.

* * *

That night, Daneros found his dreams of ashy dust interrupted by a deep and familiar voice that seemed to echo from a great voice commanded, _"Daneros, answer me."_

 _"W-what? Lord Miraak?"_ He thought. _"Is that you?"_

 _"Finally,"_ he heard the other say. _"It took you three hours to reach a deep enough stage in your sleep to be contacted."_

The dark elf couldn't sense anything, and he knew that he was still dreaming, even though it was nothing but blackness around him. How was this possible? Just what was happening? " _How are you doing this, Lord Miraak?" h_ e wondered. He noticed a shimmering image of Miraak forming in darkness before him

 _"That is not important now,"_ his leader said. _"When we are done conversing here, you will awaken. You must travel with Draena to the Imperial City at once. It is imperative that you set out_ immediately _. Find a woman there named Zin. Inform her of the situation. She is trustworthy. You will bring her here, to Solstheim, when she is ready."_

The Dunmer slowly processed that. " _I don't understand, my lord. Who is this woman?"_

 _"All will become clear, Daneros. There is no time to explain at the moment. Do as I command...or must I spell it out for you?"_

 _"N-no,_ _lord Miraak. I will do as you have asked. Zin, is it? That's her name?"_

 _"Yes."_ There was a pause, before Miraak said, _"There is something else I must tell you."_

 _"Yes?"_ The elf thought.

 _"If your men begin to sleepwalk,"_ the voice sounded amused, " _do not be concerned. It is all apart of the plan...for now..."_

 _"Um,"_ came the uncertain response. _"O-okay. Lord Miraak."_

* * *

Miraak heard Zin's voice through the dream-like state he was in. _"What happened?"_ she questioned. _"It's been quite some time since you last appeared to me."_

 _"I began working on my new plan...but Hermaeus Mora learned of my intentions to escape, and he cut me off from Nirn. I cannot use the portals anymore..._ _I need you to guide my servants in my absence. I've recently informed Daneros that all of the recruits answer to you, as should he. I need to assure them that I am still listening to them..that I am still returning home."_

 _"These people are recruits? Recruits to what?_ _Why didn't you tell me of this sooner?"_

 _"I needed workers, loyal followers, to facilitate my escape, but my imprisonment has been a setback. I began recruiting these people a few years ago... They were...enthusiastic, to say the least. I did not inform you because I was trapped not long after... Time here is odd, and I barely realized so much of it had passed."_

 _"They're calling themselves the_ Children of the Dragonborn _. I have to wonder why?"_

 _"They wanted a name."_ He could imagine Zin sighing at that.

 _"...You do not even realize that the boy had potential, do you?"_

 _"We've already discussed this, Zin. I am certain now is not an appropriate time to start re-discussing it. My escape is priority. If not, I may very well die, and all will have been for nothing."_

 _"I know, Miraak... Fine. Tell me how you are even doing this?"_

 _"It is rather simple, actually. I have been using the stones of the island to channel these abilities. They are called the All-Maker Stones by the local tribes. They are ancient focusing sites for the inherent energy of the earth..._ _They have given me a distinct advantage. H_ _owever, I am running out of time. At the moment, I cannot fully harness the power of these stones - if I could, I would be able to escape. This dream communication is the most powerful magicka I can work from my location in Oblivion, but if the shrines I have commanded the workers to begin building are completed, I could use them to access the stones' full power. That is why I need more workers to create that which will harness this potential energy to The Summit of Apocrypha. When the power is completely directed here, I can use it to break my bonds with this place...to be reconnected to Nirn..._ _It_ is _the only way now."_

 _"You would be home... but what happens to this power?"_

 _"It will drain almost completely, but since all of the energy will be directed to Apocrypha's Summit, then there will be no harm to the stones or the island. In time, the magicka will slowly return."_

 _"I see...I was informed that you're not taking "workers"... You're forcing them to work, as slaves... When night falls. Did you think I would not notice? Did you think I would approve?"_

 _"I have no choice, Zin. Hermaeus Mora said he is searching for a champion to kill me. And I don't think he'll hesitate to strike me down should that fail... These people who are working for me, they have no memory of their work upon awakening, and the energy of the stones keeps them from being exhausted throughout their day. They lose nothing, and they give me everything..."_

 _"When you find freedom, we need to discuss your liberal use of such dark magicka."_

 _"What else can I do, Zin? Tell me, and I shall do it."_

 _"...There is nothing else, I suppose... How does this power work? Why are only certain people affected? Your cultists seem to be fine around the stones."_

 _"At night, I chant a... Well, i_ _t is a poem. One that I had a few of the men put together...it came together nicely. When they hear the chant in their dreams, their hands, their feet, and their eyes become my own. It is...Bend Will, but not. I do not interfere in their lives, Zin. I only use their bodies when they do not. As for why it only affects certain people... I have taught my cultists how to resist the affects, so that they may continue helping in other ways."_

 _"Are you going to tell me it? This poem?"_

 _"You would become my thrall for the night."_

 _"You claim I wouldn't feel tired upon waking... With this, I will know that the people are no worse for wear."_

 _"If you so desire... And it is high time that I begin my work for the night. Thank you, Zin. We shall not speak again until it becomes necessary. I will not risk Hermaeus Mora's wrath too soon."_

 _"Come home, Miraak...come home to me..."_

Miraak begin to murmur the mantra, and Zin felt herself relax to it, her consciousness growing lighter.

 _Here in my temple...  
_ _Here in my shrine...  
_ _That you have forgotten..._

 _Here do you toil...  
T_ _hat you might remember..._

 _Here you reclaim...  
_ _What faithless minds have stolen..._

 _Far from yourself...  
_ _I grow ever nearer to you..._

 _Your eyes once were blinded...  
_ _Now through me do you see...  
_ _Your hands once were idle...  
_ _Now through them do I speak..._

 _And when the world shall listen..._  
 _And when the world shall see..._  
 _And when the world remembers..._

 _That world will cease to be._

* * *

The black horse thundered down the icy road, its breath coming in short, furious bursts. The animal was magnificent, he reflected. The stallion - which he'd named Flight, staying true to his current purpose - had been completely faithful to him throughout his time there, and had been even sturdier than he'd imagined. He clutched the reins, balancing in the saddle, feeling the icy wind slap his face, taking the breath from his lungs. He gasped, his heart pounding, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his system. He was alive, in that moment, so gloriously alive with danger so close. These last few weeks had been an incredible, yet horrible, rush.

There was a whizz. He ducked and an arrow soared over his head, planting itself into a tree trunk. He straightened, unwinding his left hand from the leather in them to feel the small bag at his hip, holding his prize. He shrunk down, praying to the Divines that Flight wouldn't fall.

He could hear the drumming of hooves behind him, mirroring his own pounding heart. The shouts of the enemy carried in the freezing night air. Not for the first time, he wondered why he always found himself in these situations. Why he always was so foolish. _Death could be delivered in an instant,_ he thought. _And yet... It feels amazing..._

He twisted the reins, aiming the stolen horse down a side path of snow. The white powder soared through the air in waves, glittering in the moonlight around him. The animal lunged over a fallen tree. Time seemed to slow down with the movement, and he was flying with the stallion under him. Flight hit the ground running, nearly toppling his rider to the ground.

Balancing himself, Jyrath laughed. The stretch of land before him was clear, flat, promising. The ride was smooth, and it felt almost as if he were on solid ground, flying at great speeds. More arrows whizzed by, and he carefully pulled his legs up under him. He planted his feet on the seat of the saddle. He unleashed his grip on the reins and spread his arms. Without much effort, he pushed himself up, wavering slightly. He found himself flying. He stretched out his arms to feel the biting air rush past him with enough force to make his eyes water. He was chilled to the bone under his Imperial armor, but he cared not. He held his hands out to the sides like wings, balancing his feet on the saddle. He grinned, which turned into a howl wild with the feeling of empowerment and joy.

A sharp stab of pain exploded down his shoulder. He screamed, and the horse spun in response, changing directions.

He slammed into the snow, his thoughts spiraling as an aching pain shot through his entire being. He pushed himself and tried to stand, even though his legs wobbled and his body throbbed. He could hear the roar of hoof beats and heavy, animal breathing around him. By the time he had made his feet, several horses and riders surrounded him in the bright, snowy landscape. He could feel the agony of the arrow in his back. He gritted his teeth, and drew his sword.

"You are a stupid boy. Who makes himself a larger target for his enemy, simply to show off?!" snapped an accented Nord voice. "Especially when he steals from Jarl Ulfric. This is why you Imperial dogs will all die."

"I _was_ stupid," Jyrath coughed, wincing. "It's what I am... They called me Danger-Seeker in the Legion." He watched the others dismount, drawing their weapons. He knew they were Stormcloaks. "Either way, I didn't steal anything of value from you," he growled, turning on his heels to point his sword at the enemies behind him. Like he had any delusions of escaping, though.

"Then why are you running?" Asked another. "Filthy Legionnaire."

"Yeah, about that. Maybe it was because you were trying to _kill me_ ," Jyrath said, keeping his weapon before him. "And...as much as I hate saying it... I'm not exactly a legionnaire anymore. I disagreed...and now I am here."

"Yeah, right! And I am a Falmer," another man said as he stepped forward, his eyes glinting. He wore a ragged bear-skin over his armor, the head of the bear on his own. Jyrath knew this was an officer. "Take him for questioning," he said. "Jarl Ulfric's orders."

"Yes, sir."

Jyrath blocked the blade that lashed out at him, but the agony that seared down his shoulder and body was intense. He gasped and felt his arm go numb. The blade thumped to the snow. The soldiers descended on him, and soon, he found himself falling to them.

 _Damn._

The next thing he realized was that his eyes were blinded with a rag, and that he was stumbling forward, being yanked along on a rope, probably tied to the pommel of a saddle on a horse. He staggered after the beast, feeling his feet threatening to collapse. He tripped often, and each time, the rope nearly yanked him to the ground. Intense spikes of discomfort raced from his wound. He wondered vaguely what had become of Flight. The horse was probably halfway to Cyrodiil by now.

Jyrath focused on the voices to try and ignore his rough situation.

" _Half-elf_ ," spat one of the soldiers, her voice disgusted. "I wish we could kill him. What's so important about these documents anyway? They ain't troop movements or even proper intelligence... It's just a profile of someone named Evesel Ice-Blood."

"It's important to Ulfric, so it's important to us," one of the men returned in annoyance. "Stop asking so many questions."

"Sorry, Solael."

After that, they fell silent.

Jyrath was sure that an hour or two had passed before they halted. The horses seemed to wicker in relief. By then, his wound was aching fiercely, and his arms were surely about to rip off his body. He'd collapsed once on the exhausting trek, and had been dragged in the biting snow until he could stand. A rather unpleasant experience, he had noted.

His arms were untied, and he had a moment where he wasn't sure what was happening. Then, a horrible pain in his back assured him that the arrow had just been yanked free. He was too tired to know if he cried out or not. Someone bandaged the bleeding wound. Then, he was pushed along. He heard the flap of a tent cover, and then he was out of the wind. Someone yanked the blindfold from his eyes, and that person left the tent.

The elven man found himself staring at Ulfric Stormcloak. The rebel commander leaned against a table with a map of Skyrim on it. The map was neatly marked with strategic locations and troop positions. The Nord glared at him with eyes colder than snow. Jyrath tried to find anything in those eyes but hate, and he couldn't.

 _That's just great..._

"Sit down," Stormcloak commanded, "and don't try anything foolish."

Jyrath looked to the ground where there was nothing but pelts. He mentally shrugged and sat, trying to push away the building apprehension. He glanced back up, meeting dark eyes towering above the table from his perspective. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, b-"

Ulfric slammed a dagger into the table, halting the other's speech. It vibrated in place when his hand left it. "Don't patronize me, half-elf," he rumbled. "I am not in the mood. What does this document mean to you?" The rebel leader asked, holding up the package that Jyrath had stolen. "I've never had _this_ targeted before," the commander stated.

Jyrath shifted uncomfortably, wincing. "I grabbed the wrong thing. What can I say, it happ-"

"I don't think you did."

The former legionnaire sighed. "If I tell you the truth, do I get to live?"

"No," Ulfric replied, brutally honest.

"Then why should I? I'm going to die either way."

"Let me put it plainly for you, because it's obvious that you're as stupid as you look," The Bear of Markarth growled. "You can die in a lot of pain...or you can have a swift, relatively-painless death. Do you understand?"

Jyrath found himself looking away, knowing that he had nothing to hope for. What did it matter anyway? He'd been a dead man walking for some time now. He just hadn't realized it. Sure, the adrenaline rush was incredible, but now it meant nothing, knowing that he hadn't really escaped death. He didn't have a place in this world anymore. He had refused to conform to Kaeyon's goals, and there was no where he could go to escape the Thalmor.

 _At least, I'm not dying by the elves' hands... But I am sacrificing my life, for the sake of what I want,_ he thought. _I wonder what Zin would think, if she knew._

"You won't believe me," he finally said.

"Try to convince me." Ulfric straightened himself, folding his arms.

"I wanted to know who Evesel Ice-Blood truly was."

The rebel leader stiffened. "And that is why you took this document. Why?" He demanded.

"She was...my mother," Jyrath said, feeling strange saying those words. He felt as if he were labeling a stranger his mother. "But I did not get a chance to read the document."

Ulfric stared, for once at a loss for words. He snapped out of it quickly, though. "So, you risked your life for sentiment? Elves aren't known for such..." He shook his head. "I suppose it'd be unfair to send you to your death without telling you what you want to know."

"I am surprised you believe me."

"I would not...if it did not ring true," came the response. "Once, I believed Evesel was a warrior without compare, that she was a true Nord. She came from an old family that was mostly eradicated by war or sickness...and she was the remaining member who could...pass on her bloodline. There was even a time we considered...marriage, as the Great War was coming to an end, to save her family, and bring another heir to the Windhelm throne. It was a perfect match...but then...she told me she'd fallen in love. At the time, I did not think much of it, and so I let it go... I was still young, anyway, with no desire to settle down."

 _I know where this is going,_ Jyrath couldn't help the thought that entered his mind. He nearly said it, too.

Ulfric was still speaking. "But when she deserted several years later, I received reports that she'd ran off with - of all things - a disgusting _high elf_ ," he spat. "I couldn't believe I'd once called her a true Nord. I sentenced her to be hung and ordered her capture, as an example, but the Thalmor reached her first...and she died more swiftly than I'd hoped."

Jyrath wondered if his mother had had a little of that Danger-Seeker in her. Running away with a Thalmor must have seemed like hopeless fun, at the time. He chuckled a little, and Stormcloak glared at him.

"I just told you why your mother was disgraced and then killed...and you find it...funny?"

"Not funny," the other replied. "I'm not that heartless... More like...ironic. Otherwise...I could care less. I barely knew her."

Ulfric continued to scowl. "Now, if that is all, I'll send you to wherever...half-breeds like you go when you die," he said dismissively. "Soleal!" He called.

"You know," Jyrath said, "I didn't choose to be half elf."

"No, you did not," Ulfric conceded. "But you chose to serve the real elves."

"I'm no-"

The officer appeared. "Yes, Jarl."

"Put this mutt down," Ulfric growled.

Jyrath wasn't about to die like a good boy. Who would? He lunged forward, across the map table, scattering the small figures on it. He landed beside Stormcloak. He seized Ulfric's sword, surprised to find that his injury already felt much better. He yanked the weapon from its sheath. Ulfric's hand found his throat, but he burned it with a small burst of flame magicka.

"Argh!" Bellowed the Bear of Markarth in pain. "FUS RO DAH!"

Jyrath hadn't expected that. He found himself flying through the back of the tent, tearing through the pelts. He slammed into the cold, white ground, rolling into a snowdrift. Soleal, the officer, stepped out of the tent, longsword gleaming in the moonlight. Jyrath looked up, eyeing the enemy. For a moment, he wasn't sure what had just happened. He'd heard of Ulfric's infamous ability to Shout, and he realized that must be what he had done.

"Alright, let's go!" He snarled, standing. At least he was about to die with a sword in hand. Ulfric's sword, now less. Such a thought gave him a measure of satisfaction.

The officer stared in his direction for a moment, and then lowered his blade, mouth opening in surprise.

 _Why is he...?_

The thunder of hooves answered his question. He turned, watching a group of gleaming, armored horses rushing in like a tidal wave surging in their direction. Imperial soldiers, he recognized. They rode into the camp within seconds, firing their arrows and swinging their blades upon their enemy. Jyrath rushed through the onslaught, praying he would not be trampled by a horse. He made for the trees behind the campsite.

A horse and rider cut him off. He found himself staring into the eyes of an Imperial Captain.

"WAIT!" Jyrath exclaimed, holding up his hands. "I'm not a Stormcloak. Look." He gestured to his armor. "Imperial soldier." He hoped she would not think the worst.

"I recognize you," she said in a rough, unforgiving voice. "You're Jyrath the Danger-Seeker, aren't you?"

His heart sank.

"I hereby arrest you in the name of the Empire. You'll pay for your crimes. Desertion...and consorting with Stormcloaks?" She snarled, "I should kill you here and now!"

"I had a perfectly good reason for my desertion...and I was hardly consorting with these Stormcloaks! They were trying to kill me!"

Jyrath drew Ulfric's blade from where he'd tucked it into his belt, for what choice did he have? He would have to fight his way through her. Maybe he could steal the horse and make a run for it.

Something struck his head from behind. He slumped forward onto his knees, listening to a voice from behind, most likely belonging to the one who'd struck him.

"Remember, Captain, this one is for the damned elves. Never thought we'd find him here, though, but we have to deliver him. First Emissary Elenwen's orders."

 _General Tullius himself..._

He hit the snow, darkness falling over his vision.

* * *

Jyrath woke up with his head aching as if he'd had a few too many ales the night before. That was not a good sign. He knew he was in for some major trouble. He slumped in a saddle, hands bound. As his awareness increased, he knew the horse was halting. He found himself yanked to the ground. Two Imperial soldiers marched him into a small house by the road. He was pushed into a chair, and the soldiers vanished as if it were a plague-infested room.

A Bosmer servant walked over silently, pouring wine into a glass he hadn't noticed was in front of him. She quickly disappeared into the gloom. Jyrath decided that a legitimate nap would have been nice, but he knew that was not going to happen. He sighed regretfully.

The Thalmor Justiciar entered not long after, pacing through the gloom to sit across from him. Again, the servant materialized, poured wine for him, and left. He picked it up, sniffed the glass, and swirled it casually.

"Aged to perfection," the elf complimented softly.

"It's a bit early for wine, don't you think?" Jyrath said.

"I know..." the Thalmor agreed. "It's just... I fear I may not get this opportunity again. Elenwen has ordered I turn you over to the headsmen in Helgen...should you refuse my proposition once again. And you'll die along with that half-wit Stormcloak leader." After that, he took a long drink before sitting the goblet down. "The wine really is quite good. I get the feeling this may be your last opportunity for such. You may as well have some."

Jyrath exhaled. He was getting tired of everything. He straightened himself, reaching for the drink. He raised it to his lips, tasting the bitter flavor. "It's your fault I'm about to die," He stated. He sipped the rich liquid again.

"I think not," The Justiciar said without remorse. "In the end, you have no one to blame but yourself. You want to avoid your truth. So be it." He drank of his own wine.

"Why am I here, then?" Jyrath muttered. "You knew my answer already... Kaeyon."

The Altmer blinked, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Like I said. It's very unlikely I will get this opportunity again." He drained his glass, and gestured. The servant materialized, refilled it, and vanished. "Still, I urge you to reconsider. It isn't so bad, what I - we offer. It's not like you'll have to do anything outside of your capabilities...and you supposedly are quite a...what was it? Danger-Seeker?" He snorted derisively.

"I'm not corrupt enough, I suppose, to carry your banner," Jyrath responded. "So yes. That sounds quite outside my capabilities."

"And yet, you joined the Legion, knowing full well that they served us... You could think of it like a promotion."

The half-elf rolled his eyes. "I joined to fight for the people who _aren't_ asshole supremacists."

"It is within all of us to do terrible things...if you try. Often, terrible is also necessary. The Thal-"

"Good to know. Send me to the block already." Jyrath chugged the rest of his wine down, wishing it were stronger. Going to the block with an unclear head sounded better than going sober.

The elf sighed. "That's too bad." He took a moment, sipping at his glass.

When nothing happened, Jyrath spoke, " _Half-breeds_ can't be that important to your Thalmor friends, no matter what you say. Why don't you just let me stay in the Legion? I had a place there...and it was a good life for me."

The other laughed a little. "The Legion is a relic of the past, Jyrath. You are the future of your kin. The humans cannot remain as they are. The future will see them absorbed into the ideal world. Human elves will eventually be the second class of a new order: foot-soldiers, overseers, laborers, merchants...and those who are non-elves...well, unpaid workers, of course. That is...until they die out..."

"Sounds like crap," Jyrath returned.

Kaeyon snorted and leaned back. "The Breton have elven blood in them...very far back, of course, but look how much better it has made them!... But the Nords..." he sniffed. "It is unfortunate that you were raised with these...primitive beasts. So be it." He gestured once more, but it wasn't for wine. "I know now that it truly was foolish to try and convince you."

"You once abandoned your race and ran off with a woman," Jyrath stated. "A human, Nord woman. You know, one of the kind that you think are primitive beasts? What does that say about you?"

Two elves approached from the door.

Kaeyon smiled, but it was a cold smile. "What a cute attempt to piss me off, _Jyrath_. What does it say about me? It says I made a mistake. One that I am constantly reminded of. One I regret. One that I paid dearly for. I am better though, because I learned from that." He turned his voice to the soldiers. "Take this boy to the prisoner carts. I suppose death is all he'll receive today."

The half-elf was bound at the wrists again and pushed through the door. Carts carrying prisoners moved down the road outside. As one passed, the Thalmor halted it. They pushed Jyrath up onto the wagon, where the elven man stumbled over none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself. He sat down in the only available place beside the rebel leader, who was gagged. The captured jarl glared at him balefully.

"Yes, I know you hate me, good for you," Jyrath groused. "You think I chose to serve the Thalmor?" he laughed. "Well, they're sending me to my death because I _refused to serve them_."

Ulfric looked away.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ \- _No dovahzul translations._

 _As you can see, I'm playing on the Thalmor viewpoint a little bit by having Kaeyon announce their vision for the future. I hope that it's not too out of place, with respect to canon. :)_


	41. Season Unending

~D~

XLI. Season Unending

(Evgir Unslaad)

 _A boom rushed through the ground, shaking the small village. A flock of birds rose frantically into the air, squawking. Jyrath twisted his head as he knelt. He could see the headsman's axe high in the air, ready to split his neck. Before it could fall and end his life, however, he witnessed the horror. The beast - it was a nightmare, ferocious, with the wings of death. Its eyes glowed red, its jaws filled with vicious fangs. The monster soared into the village, death, doom, and destruction resonating from it. The black leviathan of twisted scales landed, and the executioner stumbled, dropping his weapon._

 _"WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?" General Tullius screamed in alarm._

 _The executioner turned. He had a moment to take in the terrible glory of the fiend. Then, he was torn apart by the force of the beast's Shout, his body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch._

 _Jyrath could not look away. Those red eyes turned on him, vicious, cruel, filled with hatred._

 _"You are unworthy, dovahkiin," snarled Alduin. "I will destroy your world, and devour your soul, for all of it belongs to me!"_

The half-elf snapped awake, blinking away the dream. He sat up, taking a moment to allow the images to fade from his mind. Unfortunately, he realized, he was getting rather used to this. He stood, stretching and yawning.

He wasted no time preparing himself. He took a razor to his chin, an accidental shake of his hand putting blood on its blade. He cursed. He started to comb his hair immediately afterward, the mirror over the washbasin a handy guide. With a knife, he wound up cutting the mess on his head shorter than he had in some time, knowing that it looked a little more tidy that way. He went and located his finest outfit, a cobalt colored tunic of excellent material, one he'd paid dearly for in Solitude. This was no simple wool, it was made of cloth fit for an emperor's robes. He sat it aside, and washed. He donned this outfit.

With that out of the way, he turned to gaze around the room, noting the pots of snowberries and lavender. Those were nice, he tried to think. The room was a guest room, and no expense had been spared in furnishing it. On the wooden walls, he forced himself to study the paintings that sat there, trying to calm his mind. In spite of himself, he felt his nerves fraying, unraveling in his solitude, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't focus on the artwork. His brain kept descending into darker and deeper thoughts.

He twisted to the warm fireplace that was crackling merrily, having been recently lit, but the chill in his heart would not leave.

 _Bandits... Monsters... Forsworn... Falmer... Dwemer automatons... Thalmor... Dragons... Alduin... Daedra... War...death...destruction. For everyone. That is how this all ends, doesn't it? That's what that old Nordic phrase, Evgir Unslaad, means? Season unending? War. More and more and more death? How can I kill a god? I don't care what an old magickal scroll says. It's pure madness...and yet, I cannot veer from this path of obvious doom._

Jyrath had never put much thought to the Divines before all of this, but now he was convinced they hated him, perhaps because he was half-elf. Maybe it was a running joke for them.

Why else was he dragonborn?

Alduin's attack had seen to his freedom from the chopping block that day, an incongruous twist of fate, as it were. Not but a few days later, the relatively-weak dragon at the watchtower had died, revealing the truth when he'd absorbed its soul. Before any of this, even though he'd known he'd had the dragonblood, he had long since given up on ever being a dragonborn. Zin's attitude had assured him that that power would not be his... And now, he had that power, awakened, alive, thrumming throughout his being. It was ludicrous. Impossible.

Since this truth had been made evident, he'd had a whirlwind of things to contend with. He'd been juggled from one problem to the next, one fight to another, desperately struggling with a god of destruction. It was pure lunacy, he often thought, whenever he even had a moment to reflect on it. And he knew that without Zin's skills, he would have long since perished in this hopeless, chaotic quest. It was hard not to think of all the horrible things he'd witnessed since then.

The blind eyes of a Falmer flashed in his mind, its demented fangs, its wicked claws...and he quickly turned his thoughts elsewhere.

 _How ironic. I wanted to be dragonborn, and now that I am... I would give anything to go back to the simple life of a legionnaire. To before, when the world wasn't trying its damnedest to be destroyed. When the scariest thing I had to contend with was a Justiciar demanding I give my life to his cause._

He rubbed his eyes, unable to pull his mind from these problems. He left the fire and stepped from the room, feeling a little suffocated by it. He paced through the main hall, where another large fire pit blazed warmly in the middle. Sunlight shone through the high windows, and the morning staff of Dragonsreach already moving to and fro.

To his irritation and dread, he noted a familiar young girl leaning on her father's throne, a smug expression on her face. "Father got me a dress," Dagny announced to him. "It came all the way from Cyrodiil." She sniffed. "It smells like horses and cows, though. Disgusting. I had to wear something less than appropriate for today, until they get the smell out." She jutted her chin. "A big day indeed."

"That's not your throne," Jyrath pointed out, skin itching.

"It will be one day. Besides, father's asleep still. He doesn't care. He doesn't care that I put bees in Nelkir's room."

The two guards nearby exchanged a helpless glance with each other.

Jyrath started to turn away, his head aching. "Alright. That's great. Since you're in charge at the moment, let me know-"

"Oh yeah," she said, like an afterthought. "General Tullius and an elf came here about an hour ago. They went to the great porch - but said they wanted to speak with you, Dragonborn."

 _Oh gods, she's doing her Jarl impression._ Then, her words sank in. He froze, his heart skipping. "They're here? Already?"

"Yes. Now, onto the occasion - you must go into the city and return with roasted nuts in honey on my behalf. Then, you will gather all the invitations, and-"

The elven man zoned out, ignoring her. He turned and made his way for the stairs leading to the higher levels of the palace, feeling dread with each movement. If a hole opened underfoot and plummeted him to the depths of the world, he knew he would be only too happy. As he reached the top of the steps, he saw the Jarl of Whiterun. The man's face was weary, but his eyes were bright. He wore his standard attire, and when he saw Jyrath, his expression immediately became more attentive.

"Hail, Dragonborn!" He greeted. "You arrived late last night, so I apologize for not greeting you sooner. I assume you've been informed, but I'll say it anyway; the men have just finished fixing the trap, just as you asked."

"Good...good..." The half-elf responded. "Justiciar Kaeyon and General Tullius have apparently arrived."

The Jarl's eyes widened. "What? While I was sleeping?"

"It would seem so."

The other rubbed his eyes. "I suppose Proventus saw to them."

"I hope so," Jyrath replied. "Apparently, they're on the porch...and you should know - Dagny's playing Jarl of Whiterun again."

"Oh...well, I'll go talk to her," The Jarl replied and moved to walk down the stairs.

The dragonborn felt his nerves tingle. Screwing up his courage, he reminded himself that he'd faced down numerous monsters. The Justiciar here was another kind of monster, sure, and Tullius was a man. And he'd already made peace with the general, when the peace counsel had been called to temporarily halt the civil war.

 _Oh, how fun_ that _was,_ he thought sarcastically.

He passed through the doors leading onto the Great Porch. He could see five shapes at the end. Two guards were posted on that side, mirroring the ones that nodded at Jyrath nearby. Of the other three people there, two stood, while one sat. Jyrath could pick out the Justiciar robes, even from the distance between them, of the standing figure.

Numb, he strode forward.

And as he walked, he saw their eyes turn to him. He felt the dragon soul in him tense, and he felt the energy crackling through his veins. It was a feeling like adrenaline, but twice as powerful and three times more controlling. He swallowed, his brain instantly processing the threat level. With each step, he picked out more details of the elf. The dark fabric of the robes, the faint twist of a smile, the dark orange eyes. They had not seen each other since the day he'd infiltrated the Embassy...

That _was also pretty fun._

Now, he was an official enemy of the Thalmor, and he didn't know how Justiciar Kaeyon would treat him for it. Would he attack? Try to arrest him? It seemed unlikely, considering the situation at hand, but he did not want to take any chances.

Proventus stood nearby. He turned, and smiled warmly. Jyrath did not know if the man was oblivious to the tension, or if he was just adept at hiding it, being an advisor, used to high energy and anger.

The half-Altmer reached them, halting. General Tullius was the one sitting languidly in the chair at the long table, a mug in his hand. Kaeyon stood closer to the view of Whiterun's rolling plains reaching to the mountain of the Greybeard's monastery. Proventus was somewhere closer than that, but farther than Tullius, a few steps to Jyrath's left.

"Dragonborn _,_ " The general greeted. "I hear you're doing well, considering. It has been a...strange few weeks."

The half-elf calmly replied, "whatever else it is, it certainly beats being a Thalmor toady, Sir."

"I won't disagree with that sentiment," The general replied.

He was surprised when Kaeyon gave no reaction to that. Jyrath was equally astonished at Tullius' bluntness. Obviously, he was not too happy. Perhaps the middle-aged Imperial had not gotten much sleep.

"I received your letter, Kaeyon," Jyrath directed at the elf. "Tell me why you're both here?"

"I'd rather not be here," Tullius admitted. "I've got a rebellion to quell, and I suspect Ulfric will not hold up his end of the agreement we came to. I must ensure that there are-"

Kaeyon interrupted. "We're here because the dragon situation is a greater threat than we originally knew. I have come to oversee the capture of the dragon, Odahviing, on behalf of the Thalmor Embassy. General Tullius was...encouraged to accompany me."

"That's one word for it," Tullius grumbled.

"That's all you're here for?" Jyrath couldn't help but ask. "What a relief. I thought you might be here to try and execute me." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Considering every time one of your kind appears anywhere near me, there's usually a note left on their corpse about _destroying me with extreme hatred_."

The Altmer's face twisted into a grin, like it so often did. It made the half-elf certain that Kaeyon was utterly psychotic. "I am not here to fight you, Jyrath," he said. "As it were, I do not condone your actions, but I am not here to punish you for them. That is another's duty...and for another day."

"What a pathetic excuse."

"It is the only excuse that stays my hand, boy."

"Wait a minute, how _did_ you even know of the plans to capture the dragon?"

Now Tullius spoke, "Jarl Balgruuf did not want civilians unaware of the danger he was placing them in. Word of what was going to happen has spread in the time it took you to return. I suspect most of Skyrim will soon be aware of it."

"The rest of the details were easily obtained by our agents," Kaeyon added smoothly.

"...Where's your posse, Kaeyon?" Jyrath asked. "You know, those footslogging soldiers?"

"I personally requested to travel only with the general, and he chose a few soldiers. They're waiting in the barracks, so  
I hear."

"Why not yours?"

"I do not need them for this."

"Yet you needed them to pull a couple soldiers from a fort?"

"That day, they proved useless. So, to answer your question...they were unnecessary then, as they would be now. And if you're referring to those soldiers, specifically, know that _they_ are busy facing the consequences of their failure."

With that grim statement, silence commenced. Then, Jyrath blurted, "that's all?"

"That's all." The Altmer turned and began to walk back towards the doors. "I hope that we will be summoning the dragon soon. I am eager to speak with it." He disappeared.

 _What an odd thing to say._

Jyrath dropped into a seat at the table, as well, feeling the tension drain from him. He looked at Proventus. "Is there any mead? I'm going to need it."

"I shall go grab a bottle of our finest," the other bubbled, pivoting and marching away.

"That went about how I expected it to," Tullius commented. "I suppose I should apologize for what happened all those weeks ago, Jyrath. I didn't like it. I still don't. The damned elves are always breathing down our necks, forcing us to divide resources, waste soldiers... They keep the Empire hobbled, coming up with the most pitiful excuses...like pulling hundreds of soldiers from the front lines on account of them having _elven blood_ ," he snorted. "Elven blood, my ass. They just like playing with us, showing us that they're in control, whether we like it or not. I'm beginning to wonder if that Thalmor brought me along in the hopes the dragon would kill me. I know he hates me." He took a drink from his mug.

Tullius was definitely in a foul mood. He rarely vented so much.

Jyrath shook his head. "It's unnecessary to apologize, Sir."

"When all of this dragon-business is over, I am more than willing to allow you to rejoin the Legion. I don't care what those bastards say. If these recent events have proved anything, it is that you are a damned good soldier, and a well-respected warrior. I sense more war with the elves, in the future. We'll need soldiers like you."

Jyrath chuckled, actually flattered and amused by that at the same time. "Sorry, General...but I'm done. I'm done with the civil war...and the Thalmor. When Alduin falls, I'm going to take a vacation... At least, that is my hope."

"A pity," Tullius muttered.

Jyrath blinked at him. "What, sir?"

"They are all out of Colovian Brandy," the grumpy Empire's general explained. "Got stuck with this soured horse piss they call ale."

"I see," The half-elf laughed at that. "Should have went with the mead. It's much better."

Jyrath gazed out over the plains, listening to the morning birds tweeting. He knew it wouldn't be long before he was donned in his sturdy, dragonbone armor, fighting for his life once again. It was good to relax though, in this moment. The sun shone serenely overhead, belying what was to come with its mellow warmth. He felt a chilled wind blow across the porch, smelling like sweet grasses and pines.

He was grateful when Proventus came back, handing him a mug. He wouldn't have too much, just enough to help ease his nerves.

* * *

Odahviing lunged at the last dragonborn, fangs glistening. A fireball bounced off his snout, sending him reeling. A fireball that'd probably come from Kaeyon. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater darted forward, his armor gleaming in the sun, slicing at the beast's leg with his sword. The housecarl, Irileth also appeared next to the dovah on his other side. Tullius moved in himself, his blade glancing off the plated scales. A half a dozen guards swarmed the dragon from behind, taking shots where they could.

Odahving started to turn on those pestering him from his back, opening his jaws, fire flickering in his throat. Jyrath saw his chest glowing with power of an unreleased Thu'um. He had to stop him before he killed them!

Jyrath Shouted, "FUS RO DAH!" The attack struck the dragon's head, distracting him. He felt confident when the crimson dovah turned back to him. "Come on, beasty, come on," Jyrath muttered, holding up his shield. He felt his heart pounding, and he was very alive. The dragon inside him was roaring mad. He hated retreating before the dragon, as he was doing now, even though it was part of the plan. His soul was screaming to fight back, but here he was, taking careful steps back and keeping a shield of dragonbone between himself and the deadly fire and ice.

Odahviing roared. "DOVAHKIIN! You flee like prey before me!" He stomped forward. "And I had heard you were powerful." He laughed and Shouted, "FO!"

The ice spilled forth, and Jyrath faithfully blocked it. His shield grew heavy, but not unbearably so. "YOL!" He returned. He continued backing away.

 _Almost there...Almost there..._

The trap dropped. Odahviing slammed against the ground by the force of it. He struggled to try and stand, thrashing his massive body. There were a few seconds when Jyrath was certain the heavy wood and steel were about to buckle and collapse. He tensed. The brutish predator raised his head, roaring so loudly, the palace seemed to shake. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. Surprisingly, however, the snare held until the dovah gained control of his rage.

Alduin's general bowed his head in defeat.

Jyrath approached cautiously. He planted himself before the beast. "Hello, Odahviing. I've heard a lot about you."

"Dovahkiin," he greeted, in turn. "You have certainly gone through a great deal of trouble to...put me in this... _humiliating_ position." The dragon met his gaze, his breathing loud as those on the porch fell into complete silence.

"I need answers," Jyrath said, still holding his dragonbone shield in front of him, in case the dragon tried to Shout again. "And I was pointed to you...but I heard you weren't exactly up for a chit-chat."

"Paaz, Dovahkiin, dii _praag_ wah krif hi raak wah dii viik..." he trailed off, and at the other's expression, he stated, "but I forget myself. You do not know our tongue. Unslaad Krosis. Innumerable Pardons. If I tell you what you want to know, you will let me go free? Hi yah alduin, geh? No doubt you seek Alduin, yes? I will tell you where he is."

"Why would you turn on him?" Jyrath asked in surprise, "just like that? Aren't you one of his generals?"

"Many of the dov have begun to question Alduin's lordship...even his most trusted allies... We question whether his thu'um is truly the strongest. Whether he has the right to lord over us. We wonder, and know that he was defeated once, long ago. By mortals. True, my intentions originally were to remain loyal... That is, until he fled before your power, dovahkiin, when I thought he would kill you. When you Shouted my name, I was unable to deny the opportunity to test my Thu'um against yours, to see why Alduin fled...and now I know. Your Voice is powerful, indeed."

"Flattery won't get you loose," Jyrath warned.

"Ni...no, but perhaps answers to your questions will?"

"How do I know you won't turn on me if I let you go."

"I promise...and you can trust my word, dovahkiin."

"You're asking a lot of faith from me..." Jyrath exhaled. "Fine, tell me what you know."

"Alduin's remaining allies have gathered at Skuldafn. He has resurrected one of his ancient priest of the Dragon Council to open a portal to Sovngarde. There...he gathers strength and devours your fallen kin's souls."

Jyrath felt his heart sink. "I have to go to this...Skuldafn, then, to find him?"

"Yes... Now you will let me go?"

The dragonborn folded his arms. "Not until Alduin is dead. I'm not risking you betraying me."

The dovah sounded uncomfortable now. "Yes...you see, it's just... I may have neglected to mention a small detail."

"Well, spit it out."

"Let me say this...you may have the soul of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never reach Skuldafn. If you free me, I will fly you there."

The half-Altmer scowled. "Great. This sort of thing always happens. Why do I get this weird feeling that the minute I free you, you're going to eat someone?"

"It is up to you to believe me... There is no other choice," Odahviing said. "You must either trust me...or wait in indecision and let Alduin devour more and more souls. He will not return until he is as powerful as he can make himself. He fears you, now is the time to strike."

"Then it seems we're at an impasse."

"So it seems."

Jyrath turned to look at the guards gathered around, their helmets hiding their gazes. Balgruuf and Irileth stood before them, swords still in hand, along with General Tullius. "What do you think?" He asked them.

"Don't trust him," Irileth said quickly, her Dunmer accent shadowing her words. "Dragon or not, he is an enemy. All enemies are treacherous. He'll attack the second he's free."

"I can't make up your mind for you," the Jarl said, "but if this is our only chance to strike at Alduin before he reaches his full power...then we might have to trust the dragon."

Tullius shrugged, stating, "I'm still not sure I believe all this nonsense about this Alduin... but if it's true, I think you'd better go kill him."

Kaeyon materialized from the shadows of the side of the room, and several of the others edged away from him subconsciously. "Something tells me that Odahviing doesn't lie," he said. "If I were you, I'd accept his offer."

"I didn't ask you," Jyrath growled.

The Altmer turned from him. "Then it is true," He directed at the dragon, studying the dovah with shrewd eyes.

"What is that, mortal?"

"What they say about Alduin's return."

The dragon snorted. "Mortalkind did not used to be so ignorant to Alduin's wrath."

"It's just Thalmor," Jyrath supplied, voice mocking. "They're all asshats like that."

Kaeyon ignored his words. "I had my doubts." He shook his head. "...but it's true. The dragons are incredible. Alduin is in...Sovngarde?"

"Yes. I just said that, _joor_."

"How does devouring the souls increase his power?"

Odahviing raised his head a little, smoke drifting from his snout. "I do not know. Alduin has done this for as long as I have lived."

"Every other dragon is so much more different from Alduin, from what I've heard. Why is that?"

"I do understand the purpose of your questions."

"These men are happy to squash the dragons under their heels, forget them, push them back into their graves. I'm not that ignorant or primitive. I want to learn more...to understand. Alduin has _literally_ raised you back to life! True immortality!"

Jyrath felt a jab of discomfort at the elf's reaction.

Despite Kaeyon's placating tone, the dragon seemed deeply offended, for some reason. "I am not going to share that with you, Joor. My history is not a trivial piece of fact to go in one of your paper books!" He growled. "Now, leave. You test my promise to the dovahkiin!" He raised his head, a burst of fire leaving his jaws in pride and anger.

Personally, Jyrath wouldn't have minded the Justiciar begin eaten alive for pissing off the dragon. However, he stomped up to the elf, knowing that he didn't need Odahviing antagonized to that point. "Leave. Kaeyon. No one wants you here."

"I see that," the Altmer replied. However, he did not leave. Instead, he turned and marched towards the wall. He stood there, watching on in silence, eyes glittering.

Farengar had also appeared, but after that display, his face fell, and he disappeared back into the keep.

"Fine," Jyrath sighed loudly to the red dragon. "I'll set you loose. Then, you'll fly me to Skuldafn."

"Good. It is wise to recognize when one has no other options."

He asked the guard to release the dragon, and he was pleasantly surprised that Odahviing kept his word, down to the letter. As they were about to fly, the scarlet dovah murmured, "just to warn you, dovahkiin. Once you have seen Keizaal, as the dov do, your envy of us will only increase."

"Maybe."

Then, they were soaring away. Jyrath blinked in surprise, feeling cold air sweep through his helmet. Even though the wind made his eyes water, he could still see far into the distance. He was instantly giddy with the altitude and speed, and the ground rolled away underneath. He looked down, and sudden euphoria filled him. He laughed. He couldn't have been happier.

"I can't believe you'd fly me," he yelled to the dragon over the wind.

"Believe it or not, Dovahkiin, but I am not the first of the dov to fly with a mortal on his back."

"That's surprising."

"I hope that you are successful, Dovahkiin. If not, we shall all die. You must conquer Alduin."

 _Great, no pressure or anything,_ Jyrath thought to himself. His giddiness faded, and his mind was swamped with dark thoughts. He suddenly became painfully aware that he was likely flying to his death. No, he thought, he would not think that way. He clenched his fists on the scales underhand. The dragon in him growled. He'd sent Alduin running once before in fear for his life.

He could do it again.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul translations -**_

 _Paaz, Dovahkiin, dii praag wah krif hi raak wah dii viik - True, Dragonborn, my need to fight you lead to my defeat.  
Hi yah Alduin, geh? - You seek Alduin, yes?_  
 _Ni - No_  
 _Joor - Mortal_


	42. The Elder Scrolls have Foretold

_**A/N**_ \- _Well, just so you know, this chapter is really AU(Alternate Universe), meaning it deviates from canon..._

* * *

~D~

XLII. The Elder Scrolls have Foretold

(Kel lost Prodah)

 _"LOK VAH KOOR!"_

The mists of the enemy's attack drifted away before the Shouts of the warriors. Jyrath clenched his weapon. Hakon had drawn his own sword. He thumped it upon his shield, face twisted, snarling. Gormlaith balanced her longsword on her shoulders, smiling a promise of a painful end to whoever faced her. Felldir's face remained calm, hands flared with magicka, and his gaze fixed to the sky. The towering giant of a man, Tsun, stood behind them, grim, determined.

Alduin's form appeared in the sky. With a trumpeting roar signaling the end, he descended. He halted, hovering above the hill that contained a silhouette of a rundown Word Wall, his bloodred eyes locked upon them. The portal out of Sovngarde glowed behind him, casting him even darker in its otherworldly light. A line of dragonspeech left its jaws. He let out a mighty roar. With a snarl, he shifted to attack, diving.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" The warriors Shouted. The blue light struck the Destroyer, forcing mortality upon him. He fell, crashing to the earth.

"Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar! Zu'u lost kriaan hi ont, nu hin sille fen nahkip suleyk," he growled, righting himself. "Di kiirre fen alok!"

"Stop chatting!" Jyrath charged forward, weapon raised.

"DOVAHKIIN!" Alduin lunged forward, wings sweeping in a grand motion. He howled, his hateful voice pouring from his maw. Sharp fangs, black as night, fell toward the dragonborn. The sword swung up, clashing uselessly against Alduin's nose. The half-elf twisted away from the savage teeth. Hakon rushed from the right, Gormlaith from the left. Their weapons slashed into Alduin's wings. He spat and leapt back, howling.

"Hi jur zey? Zu'u diist Kul do kiindah!"

"I said - SHUT UP!" Jyrath yelled.

"Why, Dovahkiin? Is it because you do not speak my tongue?" Alduin retorted. "Do my words stir such anger, because of your ignorance?"

"FO!" Felldir's Shout frosted Alduins jaws in ice, freezing on his scales. Alduin cursed in anger, finding his wings. He shifted, preparing to retaliate, but was beset by the other warriors in the blink of an eye.

The Dragonrend Shout faded.

He leapt into the air, his large tail knocking Jyrath off his feet. Again, the Tongues Shouted Alduin down. The dragon, expecting it this time, managed to more graceful landing, digging his claws into the soft earth. Deep ruts cut through the grass. Alduin seethed in rage.

He unleashed his own Thu'um.

The sky opened. The portal far above raged and roiled. Rocks of flame began plummeting.

"Face your end, dovahkiin!" Howled The Destroyer.

"LOK VAH KOOR!" was his response, dispersing the rain of fire.

The warriors of Sovngard clashed with the mighty being - a god amongst his own kind. He was as vicious as he looked, fighting with all the fierceness of his kind. Though his Thu'um was mighty, so was the dragonborn's and the Tongues'. Alduin could not conquer them, especially with the mortal Shout holding him down. He dealt many blows, and most of those he received bounced of his scales. Yet those that struck, struck true.

Neither side was willing to back down.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The dragonborn rushed forward, shield up, blocking the flames. He stumbled when they contacted with his shield. With a sharp cry, he pressed onward. Alduin gave a mighty shriek. The attack faltered. Tsun stood nearby, his blade buried in the the beast's scales. Alduin cursed, leaping away. The massive warrior didn't unleash his weapon, yanking it free with a gush of dark blood.

"For all your boasting, you bleed as well as any beast!" He declared.

"Dir, sahlag joor!" Alduing hissed, but he backed away.

"Together now! Use Dragonrend!" Jyrath called. "Three! Two! One! _JOOR ZAH FRUL_!"

Alduin was struck by the combined might of Dragonrend. He staggered, head bowed.

Felldir Shouted "FO KRAH DIIN!"

Alduin shrugged it off, and looked at them condescendingly. "I smell your fear, mortals!"

"FUS RO DAH!" The dragonborn Shouted, rage flaming in his veins. "I do not fear you, beast!"

Alduin hissed, surging forward. He managed to flap his wings once. His claws clasped down, sending chunks of rock and dirt into the air. He snarled, unable to take wing. With another short rant in the dragon language, he twisted. Alduin flared both wings, flinging Felldir and Gormlaith through the air. He growled ad released a cloud of ice from his jaws. The chilled condensation struck them, stealing the air and mobility from their bodies.

Jyrath moved forward, Tsun not far behind, but the World-Eater was already upon the two downed warriors. Hakon shot into the fray, putting himself between the destroyer and the fighters. Alduin lunged. His head reared back, jaws locked upon the mortal soul.

"No!" Gormlaith said, struggling to her feet. "I'll flay you, you giant wyrm!"

Her sword buried itself to the hilt between the dragon's scales in his neck. The Destroyer, about to devour the fallen warrior, released his hold. Jaws parted in a howl, Alduin stumbled back, the ground shaking under him, right toward a prepared Tsun. The large man swung his sword across the back of the monstrous leg. Fresh, warm blood ran down the open wound. Jyrath lunged underneath the dragon's stomach, thrusting his weapon upward through the exposed flesh.

Alduin jumped forward, away from their assault. He screeched. He swept his tail around, knocking Gormlaith away like a pesky fly. Tsun charged forward, raising his blade. Alduin shoved his head towards him and snarled, spitting another Shout. "KRII LUN AUS!"

The Shout struck the warrior fully. The man stumbled, crying out in pain. He fell to one knee, burying his weapon into the ground for support. He hissed, eyes flashing.

Alduin laughed, the noise like an earthquake, "aus ahrk dir!" His teeth, black as night, showed behind his warped grimace.

Tsun hissed. The Destroyer towered over him.

Jyrath positioned himself, Shouting, "FUS RO DAH!"

The blue force struck the dragon's snout. He flinched. His head dropped, and Jyrath saw his chance. Running towards his nemesis, he leapt and drove his blade into a glowing, red eye. Dark blood gushed out. The monster yanked back, screaming in pain. Jyrath followed, teeth bared and spattered in dark crimson. He felt savage.

He couldn't remember what he'd been afraid of. All he could feel, was that amazing adrenaline burning through him. His Thu'um stung his throat, his blood boiled, his dovahsil, his dragon soul, flared with the need to conquer his enemy. He felt, for all intents and purposes, that he were a dragon. He could not fall.

"Dovahkiin, you are weak! You need help, and still, you cannot win!" Alduin rasped, his wounded eye closed and bleeding.

"How will you see when I take your other eye, bastard?"

"I will not allow you to!"

"Come here, then!" Jyrath readied his weapon, raising his shield.

Alduin struck. "FO"

Jyrath raised his shield. Then, the dark maw jarred upon his frosted wall of dragonbone. Instead of balking though, he shoved with all his might, roaring. Alduin growled, turning his head away. Jyrath seized the opportunity. He shoved his blade into the other eye.

Alduin shrieked, "ZU'U NIS KORAAV! FIN FAAZ!"

He tried to rear his head but failed. Jyrath slammed his blade deeper, cutting into the monster's head. He hoped there was a normal brain he could sever, slice it to pieces, and end the monster's life for good.

The Firstborn jerked away. He collapsed, thrashing upon the ground, howling. There were shudders rushing underfoot, but Jyrath ignored it. He looked to his blade, which was covered in inkiness right up to the hilt. Alduin wailed one final time before lying still. After a moment of steadying themselves, the warriors stepped forward, observing the still form of their enemy. The great Destroyer's body lay unmoving.

A silence fell upon them, eerily empty. The sky hung open above them as a swirling portal, haunting in appearance. Jyrath picked his way through the tall grass, feeling his heart pound. Something was wrong. He should have absorbed the soul. Or something. At the very least, the death did not feel permanent to him.

He approached, musing, _another strike, through the heart, just to be sure this thing stays dead for eternity._

He gripped his sword tightly. Prespiration gathered on his palms. He was numb, tired, exhaustion filling his limbs, but his eyes darted around, alert. He fixed on the mound of fiendish scales.

 _He'd better be dead._

He was nearly to the eyeless corpse.

The black scales started glowing. Jyrath froze. He did not feel a soul to seize, like he always did when he killed a dragon. Alarm filled him. Brighter and brighter, his nemesis burned like fire. The body twitched. Then, the head moved. It lifted. Where the eyeholes had been, were glowing bright embers of red flame. The black frame of the Firstborn was wreathed in unholy fire.

Alduin clambered to its feet. Fiery embers rained from his flesh. He threw his head back and roared, flames curling from his jaw. His skeleton showed through his hide. He looked down upon them, declaring, _"Zu'u los Lein-Naakin, mey! Zu'u fen du pah tol los joor, ahrk hi fent aus dii bah fah hin tahrovin! Zu'u fen du hin sil, dovahkiin! Luft zey ol Zu'u los! Faal AL-DU-IN!"_

The great head reared back, jaws opened.

The warriors charged forward, again.

"I knew it was too easy conquering the beast!" Hakon yelled.

" _YOL TOOR SHUL_!" The flames raced towards them, larger and brighter than before.

Jyrath calculated that his shield would not withstand the punishment. He leapt to the side, rolling to the safety of a rock. The flames broke over it, searing hot. He crouched, watching his cover start to turn to liquid from the intense heat.

The Destroyer turned his flames upon Gormlaith at his feet, her sword flashing at his leg. She screamed. Flame poured over her. The others were on the ground already, fighting to gain their feet again. Jyrath wasn't even sure how that'd happened.

He broke out of cover. "JOOR ZAH FRUL!" he Shouted, but Alduin shrugged the Shout off as if it were a minor annoyance.

"Your thu'um is nothing to me now, dovahkiin!" With a howl, Alduin pressed forward. Flame spilled from his jaws. With no time to dodge, Jyrath raised his shield again. The flames sprayed over it, and he felt the enchantment upon it buckle and crack. The edges of the shield began to morph into liquid. The enchantment fried, and the heat became unbearable, burning his arm in searing pain. He stumbled back, dropping to his knees.

 _Damn it…_

Jyrath stared at his ruined, half-melted shield lying in the grass nearby. His arm was throbbing in pure agony. Looking down, he saw the red, blistering wound twisting down the back of his left hand and arm, all the way to his elbow. His dragon armor had burned away like it were made of wood. Two magicka-resistant enchantments had been destroyed, along with dragonbone. He'd felt the Firstborn's fire.

Jyrath gripped his blade, ignoring the pain in his left arm. His soul did not feel fear. He felt superiority. He had tasted the supposed Destroyer's Thu'um as it truly was.

And he knew exactly what it meant for him.

"You cannot withstand my true power," Alduin boasted, mistaking him. He inhaled, as if to Shout once more.

Jyrath looked up, catching the monster's gaze. Pain filled him, and so did the desire to win. The desire to overcome his foe. The dragon in his soul snarled deeply, and he echoed it. He howled a desperate emotion from his heart, and a feeling came over him. He knew the Destroyer was frightened of him. He had known it since he'd fought the beast on the Throat of the World. He would always be stronger. His Thu'um was mightier, and it would force the other to submit. It mattered not what the monster did to himself, or what power he summoned.

It could not save him from the dragonborn.

"I _WILL_ CONQUER YOU, ALDUIN!" Jyrath yelled.

The World-Eater froze, gazing at him. He tilted his head. His fire began fading...and he rose into the air.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" The dragonborn Shouted.

The Destroyer was struck. He fell, slamming into the hill with the Word Wall. A cloud of dust and dirt lifted into the air from where he smashed down. Out of the corner of his eye, Jyrath could see Felldir trying to rouse Gormlaith, who lay motionless on the ground, and Tsun was helping Hakon to his feet. The dragonborn raced past them all, making for the mound where the World-Eater had fallen.

* * *

Alduin slumped, his face turned toward the half-elf. The eyes that'd once glowed with malevolence and dominance were now dark and dull with loss and defeat. He noted how Alduin slumped by the broken Word Wall. It was crumbled like the one at the Throat of the World. Jyrath saw an image of Paarthurnax perched on his own crumbling Word Wall flit before his eyes. He blinked and raised his weapon, preparing to strike one last time.

What would it be like to have a brother? He wondered. And one that had become so monstrous, at that? Did Paarthurnax feel any sort of attachment to this creature before him?

"Why do you hesitate, Dovahkiin?" Alduin rumbled, voice having lost all of its former arrogance. Now, it sounded lost and empty. "You have proven your suleyk, that not all mortals are sahlo...weak. You have proven...your dez...Akatosh's Will..." Alduin inhaled through his massive snout. "But I sense...hesitation in your heart."

Jyrath realized that with each heartbeat, his rage was draining; this blow would be in cold blood. _But I have to do it,_ he thought. _It is the only way._

"There is...faas, fear, too, _Qahnaarin_ ," Alduin continued. "But not for me. You do not fear me. You have mastered my thu'um, even without the help of those mortal souls... At the Throat..." He raised his head, horns pointed to the sky as he gazed at the mortal. "Fear...for another enemy you feel you cannot possibly conquer."

"How could you know that?" Jyrath demanded.

Alduin did not answer. He dropped his head, broken eyes unseeing. His lips curled slightly. "Even when you strike me down, dovahkiin, dragonkind will not answer to you. I am the only master they will acknowledge. It has been this way for millennia." He exhaled, blowing air across the trampled grass. "You are the only one to master me since my birth. Even your...fellow mortals needed their Kel...Elder Scroll...and they did not _truly_ defeat me."

Jyrath stared. "What are you babbling about?"

Alduin's ruined eyes stared back. "Dragonkind...is at an end. It ends with me." He shifted, his breath rasping weakly. "You...are that end. Your destiny...is genocide, ironically dictated by the father of creation. Only I could have saved...the _dov_... I would have lead them to glory, once more."

The dragonborn felt his right hand tremble, even as his left burned with agony. He turned away from the black dragon. He let out a string of curses, venting the brunt of his turmoil into the air. He spun back around and marched towards the ancient dovah. "Why should I care about dragonkind?" Jyrath demanded. "All the dragons want is death and destruction."

"Dragonkind...want...what I want," Alduin rumbled. "Their nature will always equal my own. I was the first, and they were my most faithful...until you came..."

"Then they deserve to die. _You_ deserve to!"

"Do you so blindly follow the Will of Akatosh?" Alduin growled. "Will you be a mindless tool for a silent and invisible Aedra?" He bared his teeth. "I was cast adrift upon the currents of time, and in all of it, he refused to deign to speak with me. I disappointed him, and he condemned our entire race to destruction for it! I did not follow his ideal, and so I must be eradicated for eternity!" He stopped, smoke drifting from his nostrils. He seemed to remember himself. He dropped his head. "What's done is done. The fate of the dovah is in your hands, dovahkiin...as Father decreed."

Jyrath couldn't help it. He was agonizingly reminded that his own father was not so different in that regard. He scowled, irritated at the defeated Destroyer. "I do this for the good of the world." He leveled his sword before him, stepping towards the fallen dragon.

"And when your other enemy faces you...what good does that do the world?" Alduin retorted. "Is that not what you fear?"

"Why should I even listen to you?"

"Why have you listened to me, thus far!? Alas, I want to _live_ , to continue, dovahkiin, as I imagine you would!" the dragon howled. "I throw myself on your mercy."

"When you had none for us?"

"This world turned on me... My reaction was hasty. I had held their praises for more years than I could count, and that changed in a heartbeat..." Alduin tilted his head. "I would fight for you, Dovahkiin... Your world was not willing to fight for me, to beg my forgiveness."

"We don't need your forgiveness!" Jyrath snapped, but in his mind, he could see the Destroyer razing Thalmor armies in a single Shout. Wouldn't the elves be driven back into the holes they'd crawled out of in no time? He blinked a few times. Where had that idea come from?

 _"Would you simply be the plaything of dez?"_ Paarthurnax's words rang in his ears, a memory he'd carried since the day he'd first met the wise, old dragon. _"Do you have no mind of your own, that you blindly follow fate?"_

His hand trembled again, and he dropped it. He growled, furious. "You...acknowledge my power?" Jyrath asked, furrowing his brow.

"Indeed," Alduin said. "You are worthy to me... Few are. I respect you, dovahkiin."

"Swear it," Jyrath growled, tone aggressive.

Alduin shifted, managing to rise to his wings. "I swear to you, dragonborn," he said. "I acknowledge your power as superior. My body and soul shall serve you. When you have need of me, merely call my name...but I will need rest, first."

"Go, then," Jyrath snapped, stepping back. "Hide yourself away from all but the dragons. The world must think you're dead...for now."

The ancient dragon's eyes were slowly regaining their light, the eyeballs regenerating in their sockets. He turned them to Jyrath. He leaned his head down. "My race belongs in your hands, dovahkiin. Our heart is one and the same, and it beats for the dov."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you are dovah!" Alduin leapt into the air, his wings propelling him away.

"Hey!" yelled a voice behind him.

He spun, catching sight of Hakon limping up the hill, Felldir beside him. Gormlaith and Tsun were not far behind, rushing with their swords drawn.

"He's escaping!" snarled Hakon, watching the form of the Destroyer disappear into the sky. He turned his fury to Jyrath. "Why did you not slay him while he was grounded?"

Jyrath stared at the Tongue before him, and said, "he...had too much fight left in him. He managed to get away before I could strike a killing blow."

"Why did you not use Dragonrend?" Gormlaith snapped, stomping up to him. She jabbed a finger in his face.

"I...couldn't Shout so soon after that last one," Jyrath replied. "I used all of my strength for it."

Above them, the portal began to close, the light of the sky returning.

Tsun shook his head, "then you must hunt him down elsewhere. At least he will not threaten Sovngarde again. He would be too weak...too afraid." He turned and walked away, calling, "let me know when you are ready to return to the world of the living... So much for the glorious celebrations I had planned..."

Felldir remained as the others walked down the hill. "The Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn," he stated.

Jyrath glanced at him. "What was that?"

"It is part of the prophecy of the Last Dragonborn," the Tongue said. "What few understand, is that this very line gives you power over the existing world, boy. Do not use it so carelessly."

The half-elf scowled. "Care to explain?"

"You hesitated to end Alduin. The Wheel of Fate allowed you to decide. Now, you will likely be forced to decide what you truly value most. Where death and destruction are traded for life, life is traded for death and destruction." He turned and walked after the others. "Next time, do not hesitate," he called over his shoulder.

* * *

Paarthurnax felt the shift in the currents of time. Something twisted and fiendish rippled out from that moment, and spread into the future, something unexpected. He tilted his head, closing his eyes, and he could sense that darkness closing in. It was closer to him, than it was to the future. He swung his gaze to the time-wound, which rippled with black energy and red lightning. Confused, he leapt from his Word Wall, stepping towards it. The rip in time split apart, and the black dragon emerged. The Destroyer landed upon the Throat of the World, swinging his scarlet eyes to the other.

The ancient brothers looked upon each other for several moments.

Then, Paarthurnax lowered his head, sorrow in his voice. "The dragonborn failed..." he whispered in their own language.

"On the contrary, Brother," Alduin snarled, stomping forward. "You, being so _wise_ ," he spat, "should have guessed it. His thu'um mastered mine...but your mortal dragon is different than I realized."

The gray dovah looked up at the other, baring his teeth. "Impossible. He knew the consequences of not-"

"His kinship to our kind would not allow my death," The Destroyer stated. "As long as I agreed to...certain, expected terms."

Paarthurnax inhaled, tensing further. "Does this mean you have come to revenge yourself upon me?"

"No," Alduin replied. "Traitor that you are, you chose the winning side. I cannot begrudge that, little brother." He stepped forward until they were nose to nose. He towered over his sibling. "There is one dovah that I must raise. Dragonkind need this. Then, I will return to the source of my power."

"I do not understand," Paarthurnax said. "You never did explain your power to us."

"No," Alduin growled. "I did not." He spun and launched himself into the air.

Paarthurnax waited in silence, contemplating what had happened.

It wasn't long before the dragonborn stepped out of the Time-Wound, a strange scent surrounding him.

 _Darkness...corruption..._ "Dovahkiin," the old dragon rumbled, his stomach knotting. "What have you done?"

"Save the lecture, Paarthurnax," the half-elf muttered, stumbling forward. He tripped and sat down, fatigued. "I'm pretty sure I've had enough of it from your "friends" in Sovngarde. Damned Nords." He slumped onto his back, staring at the stars overhead. "And wasn't it you who told me that I should not be a plaything of Fate...or whatnot?"

"I simply encouraged you to contemplate your actions, Dovahkiin," the old dragon reprimanded. "I never advised you to turn on that destiny, but to recognize it in its entirety - to realize that you followed it of your own accord...that you were able and willing to make a decision."

"I _did_. I _chose_ not to be a slave to it. _I saved the world, Grandpa!_ And I now have a new and powerful ally!" Jyrath sat up. "I fail to see where I've done wrong."

"Grandpa, hm?" Paarthurnax chuckled, then his tone became somber again. "Do you believe that the Destroyer will forget his own _Dez_? It is his nature to follow it, even if yours is not. He will bide his time, until he can betray you."

Jyrath stood. "Maybe _you_ should give him a chance to change? Isn't he _your_ brother?" The half-elf stomped up to the dragon. "He deserves the chance to fight his fate, does he not? He fears me; he won't follow his destiny."

" _He who has what he wants kept from him, shall only yearn for it more_ ," snorted the other. "If Alduin is to change, he must do so of his own free will. You cannot force him to change, Dovahkiin. And as long as you keep the chains on him, he will only become more resentful and rebellious over time. As mortalkind have proven. They resented the dovah for trying to change them... _You_ have resented those who tried to force you into submission. Have you learned nothing from your own life?"

"Whatever," Jyrath growled. He turned away. "I'm done debating with you. You're just one irritating sentence after another."

Again, the dragon chuckled. "You are not the only one to have said this."

"No wonder. It's true," the dragonborn folded his arms.

"It is my nature, the one that I chose," Paarthurnax said. "Of all my siblings, I was the gentlest, at first. My words often bored them...that is, until I was introduced to the idea of lording over others. It was exhilarating, dovahkiin." He beat his wings, landing on the broken Word Wall once more. "To rule a weaker race is unbelievable rapture for dragonkind," he whispered. "I still remember the way it felt, and the only way to abstain from that, is to stay away from them all."

Jyrath turned to him. "You really think you would revert to that again?"

"Not easily," Paarthunax returned, "but it is very possible. All are corruptible. Once you taste power, dovahkiin...you will never desire to let it go. No matter what form it takes." He looked to the sky, eyes glittering. "I sometimes wonder why Father allowed us such darkness in our hearts. It is, of course, Alduin who brought it upon us...but Father did not try to stop it."

"He did," Jyrath said. "That's why you got a dragonborn."

"Yes, but he too is corruptible," the other said, "It is saddening that Father thought our demise was the only solution."

"Maybe not," The dragonborn returned. "I have decided to give your kind another chance."

"I am uneasy, dovahkiin, by the possibility of where this leads. Though I cannot tell what it is, something dark lays in our future, and it is only there - because _you chose_ to defy fate."

* * *

Alduin circled the burial mound, concentrating, stirring the magicka in the earth surrounding it. He flapped, holding himself aloft, speaking into the night air. "Regjudiibrii, ziil gro dovah ulse," he flew forward again, circling the site once more. He agitated more energy, halting once more. He could feel it responding to him.

He used his considerable power, pulling at the dragon soul in Aetherius. Once again, he repeated the line. He felt the soul now, and its resistance. The dovah fought against him, but he was more powerful. He'd always been. "Regjudiibrii! Ziil los dov; hin hil engein zeya; hi nis vogahvon dez!" He opened his jaws, seizing at the soul before him with his sheer willpower.

"SLEN TIID VO!"

He forced his power into the Shout. He reinforced it, unleashing his Thu'um once more. He felt the soul rush from its afterlife. He unleashed a shockwave of power upon the mound, forcing the dovahsil back into the ancient body.

The skeleton writhed out of the ground, flinging dirt and mud in every direction. It gave a hollow, reverberating howl of agony, collapsing into the grass. After several moments, the frame of the dovah straightened itself, and burning flesh began to form on its body. It raised its head to stare at the Firstborn. Time reversed for the dragon, granting it a full, living body once more.

"Alduin. You return," the dragon said in dovahzul, its voice higher-pitched than most dragons. Its scales were pure white, and its body lithe. A mane of white hair fell from its neck, accented by a crown of four tall horns on its head. "You should not have raised me, corrupted one. You know that I will never bow to you again, no matter what atrocities you commit."

"You want to save the dragons, Regjudiibrii!" he returned. "That is what you claimed before the humans killed you. Now, I return that chance to you. You may pursue your goal once more."

"Why? Why now?"

"I was defeated by Akatosh's mortal-dragon...for now. Eventually, I will devour him...when his Thu'um is weakened by his war. I must return to the source of my power and purpose, first. You, however, must restore the dragon race while I am absent. Not all of the dov were preserved to be resurrected again. We need hatchlings... Soldiers... I will have this world again...without the mortal races tainting it with their empty lives."

"I refuse," said the white dovah. "I serve Father's Will first. He has chosen that we will fade away."

"Apparently not. The agent of his Will has chosen to let us live."

"I do not believe you, Alduin. You abandoned Father's way. Lies have always dripped from your tongue."

"Akatosh abandoned us, long before I abandoned him..."

"That is incorrect. You lie, even now."

Alduin let out a puff of smoke from his nostrils. "The mortals killed us, not Akatosh. Now, they give us a chance to start again! You are alive now to speak your rebellious words _because_ of me, my _Queen_. I bid you to do something with that life." He flapped his wings and sped away.

The female dragon watched him fade away into the night.

 _Fool. Why would the dragonborn spare your life? It should have ended long ago._

* * *

 _._

* * *

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar! Zu'u lost kriaan hi ont, nu hin sille fen nahkip suleyk - Arrogant mortals! Your pride will be humbled! I have slayed you once, now your souls will feed (my) power!_  
 _Dii kiir fen alok - my children will rise!_  
 _Hi jur zey? Zu'u diist Kul do kiindah - You challenge me? I (am the) first Son of creation!_  
 _Dir, sahlag joor! - Die, pathetic mortal!_  
 _aus ahrk dir! - suffer and die!_  
 _ZU'U NIS KORAAV! FIN FAAZ! - I CANNOT SEE! THE PAIN!_  
 _Zu'u los Lein-Naakin, mey! Zu'u fen du pah tol los joor, ahrk hi fent aus dii bah fah hin tahrovin! Zu'u fen du hin sil, dovahkiin! Luft zey ol Zu'u los! Faal AL-DU-IN! - I am (the) World-Eater, fool! I will devour all that is mortal, and you shall suffer my wrath for your treachery! I will devour your soul, dragonborn! Face me as I am! The DESTROYER-DEVOUR-MASTER!_  
 _Suleyk - Power_  
 _Sahlo - Weak_  
 _Dez - Destiny  
Faas - Fear_  
 _Qahnaarin - Vanquisher_  
 _Kel - Elder Scroll_  
 _Regjudiibrii - (dragon name) Literal translation - Lady-His-Queen-Beauty. My translation - Dragon Queen._  
 _Ziil los dov; hin hil engein zeya; hi nis vogahvon dez - your Spirit is dov; your heart belong to me; you cannot defy fate_  
 _Regjudiibrii, ziil gro dovah ulse - Regjudiibrii, your spirit bound dragon for eternity_

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- Plot twistsssss... If you hate me now, I would not be surprised - breaking canon rules as I have, and with such arrogance. So, if this is the part where you step off this ride, then I will not blame you. I'm asking a lot of faith from you readers - too much, probably. But there you have it. I've done it._

 _Unfortunately, those of you anxiously awaiting the First Dragonborn's return to my chapters will have to wait until chapter 44. There's a couple more things that are needed to be touched on first, next chapter._

 _Miraak's really not doing too much at the moment, anyway... Honest... He's probably reading or something..._


	43. A Land of Ash

~D~

XLIII. A Land of Ash

(Himdah do Kii)

Jyrath had seen plenty of crazy things in his life, but where outfits were concerned, this probably neatly went close to the top. Three people stood there, completely indistinguishable for their masks. They wore matching robes that were rough, tan and had what looked like spikes of bone adorning the sleeves and edges of their visors. Swirly lines were where the eyes should have been.

 _They can see out of those?_ Jyrath thought incredulously.

"You there!" said one of the men in a distinctly dark elven accent. His voice was dripping accusation. "You're the one they call _dragonborn_?" He demanded.

It sounded like being dragonborn was a bad thing to this man. Or perhaps it was just one of his countless enemies come to try and kill him and they wanted to be sure they had the right target. That was likely. Jyrath blinked, irritation building in himself. He noticed people on the street starting to come over, staring at the odd trio of crazies in blatant curiosity.

Jyrath felt his inner dragon snarl, but he forced himself not to be too hostile with his next words. "Yes...I am dragonborn," he finally said, though he could tell from the other's tone of voice, he was going to regret saying it.

"Your lies fall on deaf ears, deceiver," snarled the evident lunatic.

 _I knew it! I should've said, 'no, I'm not the dragonborn'._

"The True Dragonborn comes... You are but his shadow," the Dunmer continued.

"What? Could you speak up a little, I think I'm going deaf in this ear." The half-elf tapped the right side of his head. He saw more people gathering around to watch, which annoyed him further. _Idiots!_

"He comes soon, and we shall offer him your heart. When Lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!"

"For the love of Mara!" Exclaimed the warrior, reaching for his blade. "And here I was, just thinking how much I'd love to kill a bunch of oddly-dressed lunatics!"

"Kill the deceiver!" screeched one of the cultists. She raised her hands, fingertips crackling with energy.

"FUS RO DAH!" Jyrath Shouted, though he was careful not to hit the people who'd gathered. The wave of power knocked the three enemies right off their feet, sprawling them into the road. A cart went spinning away, spilling cabbages on the cobblestones. The onlookers took off running.

Before the cultists could recover, the warrior charged forward. He swung the heavy blade of dragonbone down, stabbing the first man that'd spoken through the heart. The Miraak fanatic screamed in pain. He yanked the blade back, spilling blood.

"You'll pay for that!" Snarled the woman. Now on her feet, she hurled a ball of fire.

When he turned, the attack hit him squarely in the chest. He stumbled slightly, but his armor staved off most of the damage. He didn't waste a second as he sprang forward, sweeping out his blade. With a twist, she just barely escaped the blade's fatal arc. Jyrath closed in. He spun the weapon in his hand and slammed the pommel into the mask. Dazed, the dark elf tripped backwards. He didn't miss a beat. The blade of his sword was soon painted in fresh blood. The cultist fell, bleeding and mortally wounded.

The final cultist faltered, seeing his comrades fall. "Miraak, give me strength!" he hissed, raising his hands.

The dragonborn's sword sliced through his neck, smoothly decapitating him. The dark elf's head toppled from the body.

The guards rushed over, their weapons drawn. "That was over pretty damn fast!" exclaimed one of them, sheathing his blade.

"Or perhaps you're just too slow," replied Jyrath, wiping his blade off on the robes of one of the dead cultists.

"Don't get smart with me. These idiots were down in three swings."

"They weren't even true fighters," Jyrath growled. "One got in a fireball, and that was it. Who would send idiots who can't fight to try and _kill_ me!?" As he spoke, he knelt down and searched their robes. Finally, he pulled his hand away. In it, was clasped a note. He unfolded it, reading it.

"And...why do all my enemies carry orders on them? Do they want me to find and destroy their operations?"

"What is it?" a guard asked, leaning down to try and get a look.

"Hmmm...orders for this incompetent lot to kill me, obviously. I'm kind of insulted that they thought these idiots could kill me. What I don't get is this nonsense about me being the 'false dragonborn' and...Solstheim?" He stood up, scowling. Fine. Solstheim it was. He'd have to find the ship, _Northern Maiden_ , and convince the captain to allow him passage.

And who was Miraak, and why would he claim to be the 'true dragonborn'? What an odd name.

He sighed. Sometimes he just wanted a day off...or several. He had just arrived in Riverwood after destroying a vampiric cult that lived in a castle and - that was a long story, and most of its details he didn't want to relive. He huffed. And he...took off walking. Again.

* * *

Solstheim was an unpleasant place. The ashes of the island blew viciously, and often. Even though Jyrath had taken advice from the locals upon arrival and had stuffed every crevice of his armor in cloth he'd bought from a merchant, the fine ashes still seemed to find all the tiniest gaps in the dragonbone, cloth, and metal, just so it could try its best to drive him insane. He'd traveled across the unwelcoming land, mostly knee-deep in the gray soot for the entire journey. It was exhausting, but he luckily never had to stop. The only convenience of continuing on was that the further uphill he managed to climb, the less he sank into the ash. Large, pink insects often emerged from the gray to be split upon his blade, and Spriggans burnt to crisps would slip from the dead trees to meet similar fates.

These enemies proved weak.

Eventually, he could start to make out snow on the terrain, along with the ash. After awhile, the soot faded entirely.

Jyrath found the entrance to his destination with ease. It was preceded by a large and long stone-carved staircase leading up the mountainside. Over this path were tall, broken arches. Dragon skeletons decorated the slope of the land, and he could just make out the form of the ancient temple imbedded in the jagged rocks above. It was pretentious enough, even though it looked as old as the island itself.

The locals had given him some history, but it hadn't been very helpful; not much was known on the supposed Miraak. Even the Telvanni wizard had not been very forthcoming on information relating to the name, much to his annoyance. Though he had the suspicion the dark elf had intentionally not told him all he knew.

Inhaling through the cloth he'd wrapped around his face, he set out on the long climb. At least this trek would not be as tedious as the journey to the High Hrothgar monastery, he mused.

Jyrath's thoughts were pulled to the present when he reached the temple. He paused, taking in its fullness with a certain amount of awe as the wind whipped across the platform on which he stood. What he saw, he had to admit was incredible. Dark spires twisted up into the sky, interwoven in a smooth, yet unsettling metallic pattern. The greenish tint that adorned it was barely visible, and the entire structure had been built in a rounded formation. Currently, some scaffolding led up to the side, but otherwise, it looked inaccessible.

 _Apparently they haven't put in the stairs yet._

He climbed the scaffolding, uncertain as to why they were so empty. He'd been expecting...cultists...or soldiers...or some kind of enemy. At the top of the wooden construct, he could hear voices rising up to him, so he ducked behind the one of the towers, gazing down cautiously. He could make out the shapes of several people walking to and fro, carrying different tools. Their voices drifted up to him from below, the silence preceeding the dawn enhancing the noise of their work. The floor here wasn't much different than the walls. Dark metal interwoven together made up the majority of it.

 _What is going on here? That looks...bizarre._

Though he was beginning to realize that "bizarre" was normal and fashionable for these guys.

 _"Here in his shrine..."_ a phrase drifted up to him. He tilted his head, listening. He found himself hearing that strange chant that he'd heard once before, at the Earth Stone by Raven Rock, the local village.

 _"That they have forgotten..."_

Slowly, he drew his sword and paced down the walkway. As he descended into the area, he could feel a strange magicka in the air, buzzing around him - also familiar from the Earth Stone.

He passed through a group of people, and then gazed around. After several moments, he lowered his guard slightly. None had moved aggressively, and none were dressed like the Dunmer before. For a moment, he walked about, listening to the chant and observing every nook and cranny for a sign of danger.

"Please, you must stop this nonsense!" He heard a voice call from a distant area. He glanced to see a woman in armor, some distances away. She was staring at a man muttering the chant and hammering away on the stone. "Can't you hear me?" Her voice was heavily accented.

The half-elf walked over to her, "Hello?" he called.

She spun around in surprise. "You there!" she responded. "You aren't enthralled like the others?"

"No."

"I wonder why that is," she said stepping away from the man. "I had to craft an amulet with my father's magick to keep me safe from this curse."

"Who are you?"

"I am Frea, of the Skaal...and you are?"

"Jyrath...Dragonborn. These cultists are trying to kill me because of it..."

"Dragonborn? Hmmm... That makes sense. That must be why you aren't enthralled..."

Jyrath walked up the worker. "Hey!" He yelled at the man. He knew it was probably useless, but he was growing frustrated now.

The worker didn't even spare him a glance, just kept at it. Jyrath frowned under his helmet and seized the man's arm, but the hypnotized laborer just traded the hammer to his other hand. Jyrath seized and held his other arm, until the worker began to struggle blindly. Eventually, he became too much, and the dragonborn released him. The worker continued and went back to his chiseling as if nothing had happened.

"Hold on a moment," he told Frea.

Jyrath moved to the center of the work area, where another stone like the Earth Stone was embedded in the weave of metal. He paused before it, studying it. He had sensed strange magicka in this area, the odd buzzing-sensation lingering in the air around the temple. Here, the feeling was stronger, and something darker was emanating from it along with the magicka. He heard whispering. He leaned forward, slipping his arm through the metal. Instinctively, he touched the stone.

A surge of power rushed through his arm, into his being, and the world faded.

He stood alone in pure darkness, save for a glowing, snowy area on which he stood. It was peaceful here; the effect was calming on him. That voice he'd heard whispering rang soothingly into this darkness. And he could make out the words. They were the same from the chant he'd heard the workers speaking.

 _Here in my shrine..._

 _That you have forgotten..._

"Hello!" Jyrath called out to it. His voice echoed in the emptiness, and the voice broke off abruptly. "What are you!?" the dragonborn asked the voice.

 _I should direct such a question at you, boy. You have heard my chant...yet you have broken from my words... I suppose there were those who were bound to develop immunity to my magick._

"Why are you doing this?"

 _My goals are unimportant to you...and you are unimportant to them. If you will not be bound by my words, then leave. You are unwelcome at my temple._

"That's just great..." Jyrath muttered. "I suppose _you're_ Miraak?"

Now the voice sounded suspicious. _Just who are you, and how do you know that name?_

"Well, maybe because that name tried to have its followers kill me," quipped the half-elf.

There was a long pause. _You did not answer my first query._ _Who are you?_

"You answer first!"

 _...Fine. You are correct. I am Miraak. All you need to know is that the attacks against you will cease. I gave no such order, and I will intervene and tell those foolish underlings who have taken it upon themselves to end your life for...whatever petty reason they came up with._

"They are foolish. A little birdy told me you were dragonborn..."

He could sense a wave of annoyed surprise from this being now. The peacefulness of the trance was broken. _They have been careless fools, indeed. What is your name?_

"Jyrath... Jyrath Danger-Seeker... Last Drag-"

 _Enough... Leave this place immediately. There has been a mistake, and it will end here. You will be in no more danger from my followers._

"Can't do that. You've been enslaving people to...whatever it is you're doing here. I'm not exactly willing to just walk out on that one."

 _If you wish to endanger my plans, then you will face my wrath. It is entirely your choice._

"Well, I choose to free these people from you. Let's see your _wrath_ ," sneered Jyrath. "I eat guys like you for breakfast."

Abruptly, he was yanked back into wakefulness, as if he'd been kicked from that unconscious realm.

A face with swirly eyes stared at him, and the Dunmer screamed angrily. A large mace descended for Jyrath's head. He danced away, ducking under the wild swing. He retaliated and burrowed his sword into the elf's heart. Another cultist rushed from the nearby ramp leading from somewhere underneath, but he was just as useless. Frea, who rushed in, decapitated him.

"Frea," Jyrath said, glancing at her. "Return back to the Skaal. I'll find out what's going on here, and free your people if I can."

"I cannot just leave this place! I mu-"

"Now!" He growled. "I'm doing this my way. I'm going to destroy everything in this temple if it even looks like its up to no good. If you won't leave, you can stay up here and wait."

Apparently, she saw something in his eyes, because her protests ended there. It wasn't that he didn't necessarily want an ally...it was more that he knew his dragon soul was in high turmoil, and he wasn't sure he wanted anyone who wasn't an enemy around that.

The warrior stormed down the ramp, ready for blood.

* * *

Jyrath swung his blade through the dehydrated corpse, smashing its body to pieces. He spun, Shouting a group of the cultists away. They fell before him, and he lunged forward, quickly ending their lives. He blocked a spell with his shield, before parrying a blade. His own sliced into the heart of his enemy. The man fell back, blood gurgling behind his mask. He hit the floor. Jyrath pushed onward, passing a room with the skeletal remains of dragons covering nearly every spare inch of space.

"Wow, your _Lord Miraak_ is really compensating for _something_!" He yelled across the room.

More of the deranged fanatics materialized from the other end of the hall. They ran forward, sending bolts of lightning and fire at him. He blocked, even thought the electricity carried past his shield and rattled him to his bones. His body shook for a moment from the pain of it, but he simply bared his teeth. The dragon in him pressed forward, and he found himself stomping onwards, ignoring the pain as if it were nothing.

More enemies soon fell dead.

He entered the next room, where even more suicidal maniacs rushed at him. There seemed to be at least four times as many, and he was once again fighting. Blood flew, screams surrounded him, and men and women were decimated for ever being so foolish to oppose him. He hated them to his core, and found himself reveling in their cries, their screams, their deaths. The blood was warm, welcome. The room was cold, but he was on fire, and their spells and weapons were petty and wea-

 _"Stop!"_

The voice that spoke it was so commanding, that everyone froze amidst the carnage in the room, including Jyrath. Their gazes slowly turned.

The mage stood upon the top of a raised platform with stairs, her hair loose on her shoulders. Her piercing eyes were fixed on them in anger, and her white robes seemed bright in the chamber. Her eyes shot daggers at them all. She somehow diminished Jyrath's rage with her look, for it was very familiar. She folded her arms, stepping forward.

"All of you, stop!" she continued. "This man is beyond you! Can't you see? Or are you truly this foolish?"

Jyrath felt his hands go numb. His sword hit the floor. "Zin?" He whispered.

The cultists backed up, gazes on the warrior, and then they turned them to the mage that stood some distance away.

"Indeed," the woman returned. "You were never meant to come here," she said more quietly. "I am sorry, Jyrath."

The remaining cultists looked between the two separated by twenty feet and four years of faded memories.

"What are you apart of?" He demanded, clenching his fists. Closing the distance between them, he jabbed a finger in her face. "Those people outside are completely powerless! They're enslaved to...that Miraak thing... Does that mean you worship him too?! What are you-"

"Until dawn," Zin responded.

"What?" He asked, bewildered.

"The workers are only held until dawn. They are unharmed. It is necessary, or I would not allow it. Trust me."

"Trust _you_?" he snapped. "Trust you when you're apart of this...whatever it is?" Then, he remembered that the workers in Raven Rock went to the Earth Stone whenever they had fallen asleep. That must have been what had happened here. He suddenly didn't like what Zin was implying.

"Allow me to explain, Jyrath," she said.

"Why?" He snarled. "Maybe I should just strike _you_ down."

Zin's eyes flashed. "When did you become so angry? Does the idea of another living Dragonborn hurt your pride that much?"

The scolding tone struck him, and he was reminded of the way she had occasionally spoken like this as he'd grown up. He felt his rage drain, and he dropped his hands. "I have not been having a very good time lately. Today has _really_ sucked," he confessed. "What is it that is going on here?"

"I would speak to you in private," she replied, glancing at the cultists still gathered around.

"What?" One of them demanded. "He just killed our brothers and sisters! You cannot-"

"Because you foolishly gave the order to kill him, first!" Zin returned. "Had you not, they would still be alive, Daneros! The only one to be blamed here, is you!"

The others backed up at her harsh reprimand. The look of anger had returned on her face.

She plowed on, "their blood is on your hands! I can guarantee that Miraak will not be pleased when he learns of this!"

Subdued, the cultist, Daneros, sulked away. Another one followed him. Eventually, the rest dispersed, muttering.

"Come on," Zin gestured to the half-elf. "You know, I really have missed having you around."

"I'm not sticking around _this_ place."

"I am glad that you found your destiny as dragonborn. If Miraak had only..." she trailed off, sighing.

"What?"

"I'll explain in a minute."

She led him through what seemed to be a maze in the ruined temple. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of travel - but was probably less than that - they arrived in a darkened room. As he stepped into it, a chill ran down his spine. The unholy feeling he'd sensed back at the stone outside lingered here, too, only far more potent. The room seemed colder and damper than the rest of the temple. It was gloomy, and dark slime appeared to have gathered on the walls. The architecture here was alike to the kind used in the construction outside.

Upon a small podium in the chamber's center, a book sat, blacker than night, yet tinged in dull green. A symbol was engraved on its cover, looking like an eye with several limbs surrounding it. The symbol seemed to pulse, radiating ungodly magicka. The creature on its cover appeared again in a statue behind it. It felt strangely familiar.

"Hermeaus Mora," Zin explained, gesturing at the carving. She paced around to the other side of the book. "This is a tome of his secret knowledge."

"I knew this presence felt familiar," Jyrath replied.

She inhaled sharply. "You have been contacted by him?!"

"Once," responded the dragonborn, looking around. "He wanted a box opened...it's a long story," he said at her bemused look. He walked up to the book, and as he stared at it, dark desire coiled in his gut. _Like the Oghma Infinium,_ he thought. He was not a stranger to this, the way Hermaeus Mora tried to seduce mortals to his side.

"It calls to you," Zin said. Her tone seemed saddened. "It is this wretched thing's fault. If Miraak had not found it so long ago..." She exhaled.

"What is all this?" Jyrath asked. "What is going on here? _Who_ is Miraak?"

"Miraak was... _is_...the First Dragonborn. From him, all dragonborn are descended...and, from me," Zin said, tone hesitant. She looked away from him.

The half-elf felt realization dawn on him. "You...are..." he shook his head. "That's impossible. The dragonborn have been around for centuries. He'd have to be...thousands of years old. He'd have to be... You'd have to be..." He gaped at her. "Immortal."

"We are," she confessed, meeting his gaze once more.

"Miraak was that man in the house," he connected the dots quickly. "He spoke of the dragonblood..." He glared. "Why didn't you tell me the truth? I am your descendant...and you just happened to _forget_ to mention that, did you? And that... _Miraak_ ," he spat.

"It is not a quick tale."

"I apparently have time."

She exhaled, eyes becoming unfocused as she looked back on the past in her mind. "I suppose it started when Hermaeus Mora betrayed Miraak. A long time ago, a deal was struck between them. In return for all the Daedra's forbidden knowledge, Miraak would unhesitatingly serve him."

"Because that always goes well," Jyrath jibed.

"He was...a different person then," she said. "Much younger. Much more foolish. A young man with a dragon's soul... He thought that it made sense. The Daedra Lord was bound to his promise. The relationship was mutually beneficial, and so he did not see a reason for it to end badly. For nearly a year, with Hermeaus Mora's help, he undermined the Dragon Order. He even inspired rebellion from those who were forced to serve."

She smiled a little. "And...he made a vow to bring true peace, not the forced peace of the tyrant dragons." She shook her head. "However, he chose to fight alone. I...tried to help...but he was overwhelmed. It was then, when he was at his weakest, Hermaeus chose to pull him permanently from this world. The betrayal," she said. "For the rest of my life, I did not know what truly became of him."

"The 'rest of your life'," Jyrath echoed. "You speak like you died."

She nodded. "I had a child, though. Zoortah. And he had a child...and the dragonblood continued. Over the last several thousand years, Miraak has been bound to Apocrypha. He finally managed to gained the knowledge that was promised to him, and with it, he was able to bring me back...to life."

His head spun. "How is that possible?"

"The same way Alduin brought dragons back to life."

Jyrath inwardly winced. "Oh. I didn't realize that Shout actually could be used on...people."

"If it can be mastered, it can be used by anyone, on anyone with a soul. I do not think any other has mastered it other than Alduin and Miraak, though."

Each time he heard the name, Alduin, he felt a stab of regret inside. Something told him that it had been a grave mistake. Still, there was that part inside of him that indignantly defended the decision in his mind.

Zin's voice pulled him from his bitter musings.

"Miraak refused to let his destiny go, though, and planned how to bring order to the chaos in the world despite being apart from it. He concluded that it needed a dragonborn ruler. So many were promising. Tiber Septim was _ideal_...and we simply just had to sit back and watch him conquer the known world...but he eventually died, just like any other, and the empire fell apart. Mehrunes Dagon destroyed what was left of it.

"Miraak and I searched for another dragonborn to bring back stability, and finally found the bloodline in your mother...only too late. She was dying when we arrived. The mortality of the dragonborn struck Miraak as a weakness that couldn't be compensated for. He gave up that night on his plan..."

"Just...gave up?"

Zin ignored his question. "When I took you with me, from the ruins of that house, I had thought he would return. Hermaeus Mora had learned, though, of his intentions to try and leave Apocrypha permanently, and so sealed him away within it. But as you see, he has not completely hindered him."

"I still don't understand what all this is."

"To escape now, he must focus the energy of the land itself. The only way to do so, is to build conduits for the magickal focal points. That is what the workers are for."

"You mean _slaves_."

"We do not have the time or numbers to do this properly," she replied. "Mora intends to kill Miraak, though we do not know when. We must bring him home as soon as possible." Her tone was very matter-of-fact.

"The end justifies the means?" Jyrath asked. "It does not give you the right to enslave people! You become just as bad as the one you oppose!"

"Do not spew ideals at me, Jyrath Danger-Seeker," she responded. "You have been in the real world. You know that things are not all rainbows. The hero does not slay the villain and live happily ever after. In real life, boy, there is compromise, and gray areas, and thin moralities. I cannot believe that you have slain the World-Eater and still disagree with me."

The half-elf was speechless. He was certain she somehow knew he had spared Alduin.

She exhaled, closing her eyes. "Of course, Alduin was a rather black-and-white target. No room for error in slaying him." She looked at the book. "This however, is a simple and harmless compromise. The people of this island are not harmed or even fatigued by their work. The energy of the stones ensures they do not wear out. When they awaken, they will be released back to their homes...and their lives..." here she snorted, "except those Skaal. They have woven a magickal barrier around their village. Now, their people are trapped without, just as much as they are trapped within. Without a bed to return to before waking, they...remain at the stone. They will not waken from their trance until their work is done..."

"And that won't have even a _single_ adverse effect on them?" Jyrath asked dubiously. "Not one?"

"They are fine," she responded. "I have been ensuring that they are healthy each day."

"It's still not right."

"What do you suggest, then?" Zin said, leaning back and scowling.

"Maybe Miraak should just own up to the fact that he pissed off a Daedra?" Jyrath asked.

"You think he should be punished eternally for one mistake?" She retorted. "That he should be denied Sovngarde forever more for a foolish decision from when he was young?"

"Sure... Maybe it'll make a good story of morality that'll cause the children to hesitate before putting nails on people's chairs? Or, you know... _making deals_ _with Daedra_." He shrugged, then shook his head. "In seriousness, though, Zin. If he were a good man...he would find another way. This is wrong. Still, I didn't come to debate philosophy. I'm here to solve the problem."

"Solve the...?" she trailed off. "You are stubborn...as always." She rolled her eyes. "Why is it that everyone I know is so stubborn? Perhaps you should butt heads with Miraak if you think it'll change his mind. I wish I could be there to witness that. It'll be the verbal battle of the century..." she smiled a little, but it was not an amused one. "Either way, I do not have the power to reverse what he has done here, and neither do you - in words or force."

 _Oh yeah?_ "I can try," Jyrath retorted.

"Fine." She folded her arms. "Go see him."

Jyrath looked at her, then around the room. "What?"

She pointed to the book. "He's in Apocrypha, Jyrath, or have you so quickly forgotten? Read that, and you will find him."

He gazed at the book. "It'll take me to Apocrypha?"

"Not physically," she replied. "But your conscious will be transported there. In Apocrypha, that is all you need."

"I see."

Zin saw him hesitate. "Well?"

"It's just...I wasn't expecting this."

"Neither was he," she leaned against the wall. "Now's your chance to use your _eloquence_ and change his mind. Who knows, maybe you'll take him by surprise."

Now he was sure she was being sarcastic, and it surprised him a little. Zin had not shown much sarcasm in the time he'd known her. He glanced at her, and she stared at him expectantly. For a moment, he felt his nerves tingle. _Come on, Jyrath, you fought Alduin. Reading a book is nothing._

He reached for its cover.

He really wished Zin would have warned him about the tentacles first.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **End of chapter.**_

 ** _No dovahzul to translate._**

 ** _A/N -_** _Thanks for the lovely response last chapter, everyone. :) I was not expecting it(in a good way), and I really appreciate it. Okay, now I just want to let you readers know something. Currently, chapter 50 is set to be my final chapter for part two. Then, it's on to part three afterward(the final part for this story). Although, chapters 48, 49, and 50 are very closely linked and will likely be posted in a three day succession. I'm really excited to get to them, so that's a big reason I've been updating quite quickly lately._

 _Hope you'll stick around to see it!_

 _And for those of you getting tired of Jyrath's POV, next chapter will get back to Miraak's. There's just some things I don't want to skip over for this fic._


	44. The First Meets the Last

_**A/N** \- I know, I know...I left you guys and gals hanging for so long. Sorry for that. Stuff happened and I got distracted from my writing. Plus, I've been modding the heck out of the new Skyrim on Xbox One. Think I finally broke my game today, though. It kept crashing in a dungeon in a matter of seconds after loading, and it deleted most of my saves for some reason(weird and super annoying), so I can't revert to my older ones... Because of this frustration, I decided to finish this chapter. See, good things come from bad things, right? ;) Unfortunately, I don't know how to make a stable game without Loot and TESVEDIT, so I may just have to start deleting stuff...and make a new game._

 _Blah, blah, blah. I'm feeling talkative... Okay, I'll shut up now! :)_

 _On to the story!_

* * *

~D~

XLIV. The First Meets the Last

(Faal Diist Grind Laat)

Miraak leapt from Sahrotaar's neck, glancing around.

"This is where you detected the disturbance?" Sahrotaar questioned.

"Yes," Miraak replied shortly. He walked forward, eyes alert.

Two Seekers materialized from thin air, magicka glowing on their raised hands.

"GOL!" the dragonborn Shouted, taking control of the two mindless minions. They dropped their hands, now his own to command.

Miraak nodded to himself. He had suspected that Hermaeus might try to get the drop on him with his pawns, but it was a pointless effort. He would never be caught off guard. He was unconcerned with the types of traps he might encounter. The Daedra would not come here directly, no, and his creatures were weak. Miraak had taken a part of his very realm, and he was seemingly unable to reclaim it so far. He chuckled to himself at the thought. Still, he had barely gotten away, had nearly lost his dragon servants. It'd been a dangerous game, but it was paying off. He was closer to his goal, now more than ever before.

"We are gaining ground, Sahrotaar," Miraak said to the serpentine dragon nearby. "It will not be much longer now. With this area claimed as my own, Hermaeus Mora cannot reach us, and I will soon leave his realm." He looked at the other. "The most difficult part is already over, as far as I am concerned."

"I am ready, Thuri. I long to see Tamriel again, to fly in the skies of Nirn... To be in Kyne's sacred realm..."

"Indeed. I feel the same."

Though sentiment did not have a strong presence in his nature, he could admit that he missed the freedom that was Tamriel - the icy, fresh air blowing across his face, the bright sun in the day, the sibling moons at night, framed in a beautiful arrangement of stars and constellations. He wanted to walk the snowy forests and the towering, white-capped peaks of the mountains again without the frustrating need to return to Apocrypha not long after. He wanted to return to Zin's side and fulfill his promise to her...and to himself.

It was a sweet desire, especially knowing he was so close to obtaining it. He knew nothing would stop him returning home permanently. He would finish what he started so long ago

He shifted, pulling his thoughts from that, turning to face the dragon. "I want you to scout more of the area, Sahrotaar, to ensure that there is nothing more lurking around... And take the remaining dragons. They...could use a distraction. I will not tolerate Hermaeus Mora's minions in my domain."

Miraak doubted there were any more, but he was on edge, energy crackling in his nerves and in his blood. And it was a good idea to be certain.

"Yes, Thuri."

"When you are done, return here. I should return to the Summit soon, to ensure that the spell is still working correctly."

The dragon lifted into the air, circling away.

He was a different man than when he'd first started this all, he reflected idly. _The trials I have endured and surpassed. The powers I have gained. The knowledge I hold. That all will be what raises me... I am almost there..._ He spoke his next words, even though the only company to hear it were the two unmotivated Seekers, "The time comes soon when-"

That's when he sensed the presence of another; he felt the intrusion of someone who didn't belong in Apocrypha, someone who did not have permission to be here.

"What?" He spun around, already armed with magicka. There was a sharp intake of surprise, and he wasn't sure if it was from himself or the person his eyes landed on. With the constant danger he lived with, he never let his guard down for a minute. Almost before he'd even observed this potential threat, he greeted the other with the full surprise of a burst of electricity.

He saw the strangely-amored warrior collapse to his hands and knees. Dragonbone, he thought. This man had slain dragons...without a doubt. Still, what a fool to trespass upon the room that held the book and read it when he'd very explicitly stated that it was not to be read! It was likely an imbecilic recruit, he thought.

"Who are you to dare set foot here? I had thought I'd made it clear that only Zin would be allowed to observe the Black Book. You will be..." Miraak trailed off. He stared at the immobilized intruder. _Not a recruit,_ he realized. "Ahh... You are Dragonborn... I can feel it."

Miraak had been in the presence of other dragonborn, but the power they had radiated...was very different from this...yet still familiar. There was something very strange about this man.

"And yet..." He paused, hiding his incredulity. In the mind of the other - which was an open book to him in Apocrypha - he could sense his confidence, his victory. This dragonborn had conqured greatness. Millennia of Miraak honing his skills let him read another's capabilities in mere moments.

Miraak observed, "you have faced Alduin and lived..." He knew there was something about such a victory though that felt...secret...dark. What was it? Perhaps this man was not such an open book...he could not see what the younger dragonborn hid in his thoughts, buried from him.

He found himself interested in this man, for the mundane passage of time that he had recently faced in Apocrypha had been interrupted.

"Well done," he continued. "The Destroyer. The Devourer. The Master. He went by many titles. He lorded over men with ruthless efficiency, and was fond of reminding his servants that they would not live forever. When he was ready, he would kill them all. It is a pity you did not land a killing blow..." His words grew wistful. "I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the lands of Keizaal, but I chose a different path."

"You talk a lot..." the man hissed, words pained. "I have a question for you. In a world living under such tyranny as the dragon cult, what other path called to you but destruction of your overlords?"

"Survival, dragonborn." Miraak responded. "Perhaps you live in a world where you can chase down the most powerful dragon of all without a moment of preparation, but _I_ lived in a world where I could not. I was building my strength, preparing for the greatest of all trials. That was while fending off those who sought my death. Alduin would have fallen to my blade, in time. But first, I wanted to finish his followers."

"Trial? Followers?"

Miraak nodded and said, "I would bring about the destruction of the Dragon Order."

"Let me guess. Something got in your way?"

"Treachery halted all of my hard-earned progress. Hermaeus Mora betrayed me...for his own amusement, I suppose. Had he given me my freedom, I would have..." He realized he'd gotten distracted. "It is unimportant, now."

"Yeah, Zin gave me the story..."

Miraak stared. "I am not surprised that Zin let you through, Jyrath."

"So you remembered me."

"Of course. I remember every dragonborn I've met. I had hoped you would leave...but you did not."

"What do you want, then? You've been gone an awful long time, and now you show up and start enslaving people..."

"I have indeed been gone for a long time...for too long it would seem," Miraak said. "The world is nothing but chaos, even after all the hard and endless work of those who have strived for peace. In all my years here, imprisoned, but able to observe, I discovered the one reason as to why chaos prevails even in the face of all who stand against it. Change. Change will always be. If order and peace are to be had, a stable empire that will not fall must be built... But the people of Mundus are incapable of building such. The minds of those who live in Nirn are weak, because there is not enough time for them to grow. You all stumble about in a world of death and destruction and you are _content_! For all your potential, you have gained nothing."

He stopped, inhaling. He realized he'd spoken more than he'd intended.

The younger dragonborn frowned under his helmet. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the part where you say, 'except for the hundreds of dragon souls within you... The thousands of enemies you killed... The battles you've won'?"

"Perhaps you have strength... but nothing matches knowledge and true power. Besides, you only feed the chaos with your own battles. It took me years to understand that this was, too, my error."

"My battles are with those who cause harm..."

"You fight symptoms...but not the disease."

"Yeah, because my power is nothing," the dragonborn quipped. "My thu'um is nothing. And I have not helped the world in any way, whatsoever."

Miraak's voice resonated with amusement now. "You speak in an odd way, dragonborn."

"And you don't?"

"It reminds me of another I used to know."

Jyrath had already forgotten that'd he come to try and reason with the other. The dragon in him was growing agitated; it wanted a quarrel. "I bet you were scared of Alduin," he taunted. "That's why you ' _chose a different path'_."

"I fear no dragon."

"Makes sense." More sarcasm. "I was stronger than the World-Eater, and you act as if I'm an annoying ant."

The first dragonborn felt his mounting exasperation. What was this boy trying to do, exactly? "Fine. What do you wish me to say? Yes, you've killed a great many dragons," he conceded. "but that is the destiny of any dragonborn, is it not? To kill the dovah? Fate led you, and it has served you well. Yet, still, you have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield!

"The dragonborn were made to bring order to the chaotic world. It is our destiny. We, through great willpower, are capable of having the logic of a man, but the power of the dovah - greater, even, than they. It was written in destiny that one would eventually conquer the mighty beasts of the skies, was it not? That was I, to remind you. There is little in Tamriel that can stand in the way of a true dragonborn."

"You...sound like every other grasping...power-mad enemy I've heard."

The first dragonborn nodded slowly. A gleam entered his eyes behind his mask. "I see... No doubt my power challenges you, and you react in this manner to it. Like a young dragon... I've seen it countless times in the dovah. Two can play this little taunting game, Dragonborn."

Jyrath actually smirked. "Fine. You first."

Miraak thoughtfully said, "You are nothing. You are a speck of dust, boy. A mere fiber in a grand tapestry, unimportant and insignificant."

"So are you."

"And yet, I clearly haven't lost my usefulness," came the dry response.

"Say that to my enemies," snarled Jyrath.

"Who? Alduin?"

Jyrath flinched. "I'm not the only one who let him get away in the first place."

"I never faced him in battle."

"You never tried!"

"I had planned to."

"And you couldn't because you were stupid enough to trust a Daedra."

The elder dragonborn shook his head. "No doubt your enemies fear you, as mine feared me. They are all weak," he said, enjoying this little game. He could feel the anger that was growing in the other. "However, make no mistake," he continued, grinning savagely behind his mask. It was surely humiliating to this man to fail at this so painfully. "You are _not_ my enemy. If you were, that would imply some worthiness to be my enemy. I have no time to consider the _dirt_ I tread upon..."

"Aren't you a clever prick?" Jyrath growled.

"You are terrible at this pointless, verbal battle."

"You are... I will..." He grimaced. "I can't... Yes, I am terrible at this... Damn it, I can barely think at all...can't move... What's wrong with me?"

Miraak used his thu'um. "Mul... Qah Diiv!" His armor shone brightly in the dark atmosphere. He wanted the other to be sure his power was unquestionable. "This realm is beyond you, boy. You have no power here. Apocrypha is a nasty place to those unaccustomed to it, and _especially_ to those that do not serve Hermaeus Mora. The very atmosphere drains away one's memory, willpower, thoughts - their individuality. Once it did so to I, but I am beyond that influence now... That is why you are nothing here and now. You crumple before its crushing weight, and you would be torn apart by its influence if left alone for long. Where do you think the Seekers come from?"

"The what?"

Miraak gestured to the two hairy beings floating near him.

The last dragonborn blinked, seeming to have been so focused on Miraak, he hadn't noticed them before. Or maybe it was another effect from the realm. "What then," The half-elf asked, "do you plan to do?"

Miraak allowed himself a grin of triumph under his mask. "It is only a matter of time before Solstheim is mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish their work, and I can return home. Then, I will fulfill the destiny that was denied to me."

The other dragonborn was silent for a moment, and then said, "you shouldn't do this. You know, no one is going to like you very much, when you've controlled their mind. Nobody is going to welcome you home."

"Except those who serve me... As for the others... I am unconcerned by their feelings towards me," Miraak responded. After a moment, he muttered, "...as if I have a choice in that."

"You _can_ choose," Jyrath insisted, wincing. The realm's power was making him dizzy.

"There is only _one_ choice that matters... One choice, dragonborn, that is given to all of us." The first dragonborn turned away. "To rise or fall."

"What does that mean?" Jyrath demanded. He was growing tired of this arrogant man.

"It means, that we must all be willing to do what is necessary...or perish." Miraak looked towards the Seekers. "Send him back to where he came from. He can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel."

A roar resonated through the sky, followed by the sweeping of large wings.

 _A dragon?_ the elven man thought. _Here?_ He looked up. Indeed, a gray-blue serpentine dragon soared in, landing nearby. Miraak climbed onto his neck, and the two soared away as if they were the greatest friends in all the world. Jyrath was completely mystified. Was Miraak friends to that dragon? It seemed weird to think of Miraak having "friends", especially one that was dovah. _No, that can't be right. It's something else, surely. The dragon's some kind of ally...but would a mere ally dragon fly him so readily?_

 _Odahviing allowed me a ride, but it was on his terms... This seems to be on Miraak's terms. It-_

Jyrath's thoughts ended abruptly as the Seekers closed in on him. He had to wonder as he was hit with magicka - was there no pleasant way to enter or leave Apocrypha? Regardless, he soon found himself sprawled on the floor in the dark room back in the temple, his vision blurry for several seconds. He groaned, hoping that he wouldn't have to do that again anytime soon.

Something told him he would.

"You collapsed," Zin observed, standing nearby. She held a small carving in her hand that she whittled at with a knife. "Apocrypha was too much."

The last dragonborn sat up slowly, armor clanking. He removed his helmet, rubbing his temples. "That man is an arrogant..." He trailed off, a fierce headache growing in his skull. Even so, his mind wandered.

Jyrath knew there was something strange about Miraak. It was often, he faced those who wanted power. Those who wanted to gain at the expense of others. Yet Miraak was already immensely powerful, and he seemed to believe that his return was a favor to the world, as if he were only doing this for the greater good.

And he didn't know how to stop it.

Just what could he do against Miraak, when he couldn't even move in Apocrypha after getting hit with one attack?

 _I'll figure that out later..._ He thought. _I'll go find Frea...perhaps she and her_ people _can help. They've built magicka to fight this, didn't they? To guard against the magicka Miraak uses._

Zin was speaking, "I did try to warn you... In any case, there's a tunnel leading outside. I suggest you go home and do your best to forget Solstheim." She sat her carving down, pursing her lips and glaring at him, daring him to protest.

 _No, I won't go home yet, not until I've freed these people._ Outwardly, he lied to Zin, not wanting to argue with her, "yeah, sure. Looks like I'm out of option."

Apparently, he was a convincing liar, because she relaxed at his words.

They said their farewells, which were short and bitter, and he made his way to the exit, hoping Frea was still hanging around nearby.

* * *

Some immeasurable amount of time after his conversation with Jyrath, Hermaeus Mora appeared to Miraak.

Mora was never a welcome sight, Miraak reflected as the Lord of Apocrypha materialized. It had been so long since his former master and mentor had been a wanted addition to his life. "Why is it you have come?" He asked the Daedra, wariness entering his heart.

The Daedra hovered in the sky above the small bubble of protection that was the Summit of Apocrypha, one great eye and several smaller ones locked upon the first dragonborn. He responded in his irritatingly ponderous tones, "I...have neglected...to share a truth with you...Miraak," Hermaeus Mora said. "Now...is a good time...for it to be _shared_."

"I am not surprised to hear that you've kept something from me." Miraak stood, stiff and angry. "Speak then, if you have anything worth listening to."

"Do you...recall the day that I...prevented your death at Vahlok's hands...the day that I brought you to Apocrypha?"

"Yes. Clearly."

"Good... Then what I will tell you will ring true..."

"Out with it," Miraak snapped, agitation building.

"From that day forward...you could not leave Apocrypha...or you would fade away... Do you know why?"

"Yes, because you chained my life force to Apocrypha..." Miraak said. "Is there a point to this?"

"I want to...prove to you...that your plan is a fruitless effort. When I brought you to Apocrypha, I did not bind you to it... I...merged you with it. You are of Oblivion now...and have been since the day I brought you here...Miraak."

"What do you mean?"

"If you sever your connection to Apocrypha...you will die...because my realm...keeps you alive... My library is not merely connected to your life force... It _is_ your life force... The part of you that is required to live in Nirn again... It is _gone_... And the barrier that Alessia created will destroy you, as it would a lesser daedra... No amount of sheer magickal power will change your life force... What I did to you is irreversible... How do you think that I keep you from returning to Tamriel now, when so freely you had gone before?"

"You lie," Miraak hissed, defiance fueling his answer. "Even if my life force is altered, the rest of me is still human...dragonborn... You could not change that. I was a mortal man before I came here."

"Do you think...your immortality a mere coincidence...something I gifted to you separately? It was not," the Daedra Lord returned, its multiple eyes narrowing. "No, you have more in common with my realm...than you do with that world."

There was a pause.

"Even if you don't lie," Miraak growled. "I will find a way to reconnect myself to Tamriel. If you somehow converted my life force, then I will find away to convert it back."

"I think not."

Miraak felt a shudder in his magicka. He winced, a willpower hitting his mind fiercely. He closed his eyes, and he understood what was happening. Someone was trying to steal his hold on one of the sacred stones away. But who? Hermaeus Mora? Was he somehow doing this?

No...he recognized the power; it was the dragonborn.

"HOW!?" Miraak roared, leaping to his feet. "This is your doing!" He accused the Daedra.

"You brought this on yourself, Miraak. The other dragonborn was not content to sit back and watch you return to Tamriel..."

"You...you..." Miraak faltered. He turned away from Mora, beginning to pace. He'd taken measures to protect against minor threats to the stones...but they would not succeed against a threat such as the dragonborn. "But if it was not you, then how is it that he knows Bend Will?!"

"There is a wall that holds a word of power to that Shout... The Skaal lead Jyrath to it..." The Daedra seemed to be laughing with his tone of voice, "you should not have made enemies of so many... So careless... So clumsy... So foolish... You will never change, and that is your weakness."

Miraak paced, disbelief building in him. He forced a laugh. "You gloat about this now, but it is merely a frustration. Even if he reclaims all the stones, it will be only a minor setback...but not a permanent one. I will simply kill him and then resume my plans."

The Daedra, much to Miraak's confusion, chuckled and faded away. However, his voice continued to resonate even after he was gone, " _So arrogant. I eagerly look forward to breaking you once again...Miraak... This time, however, you will not survive it..."_

Then, his presence was gone.

The first dragonborn shivered and sat down again, struggling not to lose his composure now. He needed to be patient, and think calmly, rationally. He needed a plan, and making a plan while upset was a terrible idea. After a while, when he was more calm, he began to form one.

 _I must contact Zin._

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **End of chapter.**_

 _ **A/N** -_ _I think there's no Dovahzul to translate, except for the stuff I've already translated more than a couple dozen times(dovah, thuri, ect)._


	45. Sacrifice

~D~

XLV. Sacrifice

(Zahrahmiik)

Jyrath really didn't know why dragons attacked Raven Rock. It'd happened before, on the first day of his visit, and it had not been in the flying beast's best interest. The houses were sturdy, and built with stone instead of wood, so they would not burn in its fire. The population had taken refuge in the temple, the strongest building in the settlement. That particular dragon had only managed to kill a few guards before it'd been brought down.

 _And guess what? Now there's another, doing the exact same thing,_ the last dragonborn thought to himself. _One_ _would think they would be more intelligent, with such large heads. One would be surprised._

He heard the dragon's fire several minutes before he reached the town, galloping on a gray horse. When he turned down the cobbled road half buried in ash, he saw the dovah rising from the village, it's lightly-colored body twisting into the sky. Danger-Seeker urged his mount towards the city gates, which was unguarded in the face of the dragon attack. He pulled back on the reins, and his horse halted, snorting. He watched the animal's eyes roll nervously as he leapt from the saddle. With the weight of its rider gone, the horse spun around and bolted. Contrarily, Jyrath sprinted into the fray, kicking up ash in his wake. He drew his sword and shrugged his shield into his grip. Furrowing his brow, he raised his gaze to the sky above, spotting his enemy.

The dragon slammed into the wall of the city with its claws, knocking loose several stones and capturing two guards. It rose again, high into the air.

"Zu'u los Faashilfrin!" It howled, crushing the guardsmen. Their screams were drowned out in the monster's own thunderous voice. "Faas zey!"

 _All dragons love hearing their own voices as they crush and slaughter...it's a fact!_ Jyrath mentally quipped, then forced his own thoughts to become more focused on the battle at hand. The best strategy when killing a dragon was to try and bring it down as quickly as possible. Stunning it would be the easiest way to do this, he calculated.

The dragon dropped the lifeless bodies from its claws and hovered above the bulwark, ready to unleash its Thu'um on those below.

Jyrath Shouted first. "JOOR ZAH FRUL!" Dragonrend slammed into his target.

The dovah yowled in pain. It flapped wildly for a minute, trying to gain height, and then dropped. The mass of spikes and scales crashed into the street, thrashing between two buildings. Its movements cracked and destroyed stone, sending bits of the ground and walls flying through the air. It yelled something in its own tongue. A deep blue light held it to the earth, forcing it to experience the agony that was mortality.

Jyrath wasted no more time. If he gave the winged lizard even a second longer to gain a sense of its surroundings, he was endangering more lives. He charged forward. The large, reptilian face turned towards him. He cleaved downward with the deadly dragonbone blade. The sword smashed into its snout, splitting light scales with ease. Dark blood spilled from the wound. Jyrath yanked back, his arm and weapon working as one to leave yet another gash in its face.

Faashilfrin threw its head back, howling.

Jyrath made to dart in, to take advantage of the opening, to drive his blade into the monster's heart.

But the dovah regained its senses. "GAAN LAH HAAS!"

Jyrath was hit with the Shout. He stumbled, halting, feeling the attack weakening his strength. Sharp pain and fatigue unfurled throughout his body, and he knew he was already slower for it, reflexes duller. He hissed, the dragon in him pushing forward regardless. He lurched onward, holding his shield above his head. He swung towards the large neck, howling.

He missed his target.

The dragon lashed down with its head.

He blinked and dodged. Unfortunately, he did not move fast enough to escape the attack. The dragon snagged his shield. The beast twisted back, pulling it from him. Jyrath yelled in alarm and pain, vaguely wondering if his arm had been ripped from its socket. Faashilfrin flung the protective item to the side. The dragonborn backed away from the dragon and raised his sword. Even though his entire body ached, he focused upon nothing but this foe before him. When the horned head raised, he knew what was about to happen. Fire lit up the dragon's chest, and the scales glowed brightly.

"FUS RO DAH!" Jyrath attacked first.

Faashilfrin's head was pushed back by the force of the dragonborn's Thu'um. Readying himself, Jyrath dashed forward, thrusting his blade up into the dragon's chest, using all of his muscle-power to drive it into the flesh between scales as far as he could manage. Warm blood splattered across his armor, and the part of him that longed for battle only grew stronger. The dovah tensed in pain, roaring. Jyrath swung his arm back while witnessing a row of teeth descending upon him from the sky. On instinct, he swung back in a rhythmic movement and thrust the instrument of battle upward. He sliced the roof of the dragon's mouth. Its fangs grazed his armor. The beast jerked away, spitting blood from its jaws.

And that was more blood to rain upon the dragonborn. He snarled viciously, ready for more.

The dragon spun around with more speed than should have been possible, large tail slamming into the half-elf with the force of a storm. Jyrath flew through the air and hit the wall, all the air bursting from his lungs. He hit the ground, gasping. The dragon in him snarled, and he pushed to his hands and knees, chest burning.

 _That damn Shout is taking its toll…_

He barely thought those words before sharp pain lanced through him. The dragon seized him with its claws, raising into the sky.

The other had apparently determined that its fangs would not end his life.

The scene of how the two guards from the wall had died flashed across his mind. He struggled against the enemy, pushing at the plated claws, but the grasp was too strong to escape through pure physical force. It tightened, ready to crush him. He coughed, barely able to breathe.

"Wah lorot hi viik thuri Alduin! Dovahkiin, hi los sahlo sahlag joor!" the dragon just had to foolishly howl in victory first.

What Jyrath knew of the dragon language was considerably little, but he knew the thrice-damned thing had just called him a pathetic mortal. He'd heard that insult all too often from his dovah enemies. It seemed a common derogatory phrase for them.

"I'll...give... _you..._ mortality!" he gasped out and gritted his teeth. He inhaled with all his strength to Shout, "JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

The dragon went limp. Jyrath fell free, the world rushing past at dizzying speeds.

"FEIM ZII GRON!"

He glowed, ethereal and translucent. It was a strange sensation, freefalling and completely safe. The wind rushed over him, and he could barely feel it except for the awful chill it held. He crashed into water, causing no splash. There was a thump as the dragon slammed into the muddy ground not far away. Jyrath's Ethereal Shout ended. He sank into the water for a few moments before hitting the bottom. He pushed for the surface. He broke free of the water, inhaling the cold air, his eyes searching out the dovah. He spotted it on the muddy shore. It was flailing in an attempt to stand, sending water spraying in all directions. He wasted no time moving towards it, his feet occasionally slipping in slippery mud under the ocean water. Faashilfrin gained its balance, reptilian eyes locking onto the mortal approaching.

Jyrath realized he was feeling like himself again. The Shout that'd weakened him had worn off. The strength of a Shout was defined by the wielder's Thu'um, and this dragon wasn't as strong as it thought it was.

Faashilfrin lunged forward, but Jyrath sliced it's jaws with a strong hit that forced it to flinch away. The great wyrm bowed its head in pain and the dragonborn leapt forward. He grabbed one of its horns, swinging himself onto its head the way he would swing into a saddle. He brought his knees down, bracing himself in the furrows just above its eyes. The dragon could not move its head very much under his weight. He steadied himself as best he could, and though he swayed like a sapling in a storm, he held on. He raised his sword, blade pointed down. He plunged it down and up. Blood coated it to the hilt. He screamed a war cry. In and out he ripped the weapon, concentrating on his fury to bring him through his steadily building exhaustion.

The dragon's struggles stilled under him. Its head hit the ground, and he slid off of it into the cold silt. He staggered, struggling to maintain his balance. His legs felt weak.

Even though he knew it could not hear him now, he snapped, "that's called Dragonrend, by the way... It's how I defeated Alduin, you solid waste of scales!" he added while watching those very scales begin to glow brightly. He turned to step away, tottering and falling to the wet ground with a squelching noise of mud. He shivered in the cold, soaked through and through. He pushed himself up, embarrassed at having lost his balance, and now all-too-aware that he was covered in sticky silt. He shivered, sheathing his sword, and proceeded to wipe vainly at the dark ooze.

The dragon soul would be more than welcome, he mused. At least it always made these fights with monsters several times his size worth it.

He flung a glob of mud off of his armor, grimacing. It struck the ground, and that was when the atmosphere itself shifted. Slowly, with a growing sense of alarm, Jyrath turned back to the dragon's corpse. He started, unclean state forgotten in an instant.

Miraak - yes, _Miraak,_ he told himself again, for no one else dressed quite so oddly - stood there, his arms folded. However, he did not seem to be there completely. His form was vague, an impression upon the air. His voice, however, still resonated with all the authority and power of his arrogance when he said, "not this time, Dragonborn. This dragon soul belongs to me."

The dragon's scales and flesh burned away in a very familiar way, but what happened simultaneously was unfamiliar and disconcerting. Miraak turned his gaze to the beast. The soul of Faashilfrin rushed to Miraak, and the wind of it swayed his robes. Jyrath could feel all of that power and ancient knowledge instantly lost to him. This ancient dragonborn was stealing _his_ hard-earned dragon soul!

"By the blood of the Daedra... My day cannot go this bad, can it?" Jyrath muttered, watching in disbelief. He felt pure fury ignite his veins as he stomped forward. "Just couldn't help it, could you, you bastard?" he snarled. "Damn you, Miraak! Do you know that I just dropped fifty feet from the sky to watch you steal this?! How are you even doing it?!"

The last essence of the soul disappeared into the other dragonborn.

Miraak's voice burned with infuriating amusement. "It takes a strong will to command a dragon's soul...perhaps you aren't as powerful as you think."

"You're going to regret that," the warrior growled, throwing in another sentence that contained some choice words for added effect. He drew his weapon and lunged forward. He would show this egotistical fool who was stronger.

His blood-stained sword passed harmlessly through the other's form.

Miraak chided, "do not waste your time; you cannot harm me in this state." He shifted. "When last we spoke, we were not enemies. That has changed. By interfering in my plans, you have proven that you are indeed my enemy, and so I shall treat you as such... We'll meet again, dragonborn, soon."

Jyrath sheathed his sword. "Yes, we will," he said darkly, eyes narrowing under his helmet.

Within a flash, the first dragonborn vanished as if he had never been there. Lingering magicka evaporated. Jyrath could hear voices behind him as villagers and guards hurried up to gawk at the dead beast, as if it had not been alive and trying to eat them all just moments ago. He stared, unseeing, at the empty corpse, his anger burning inside very brightly.

As quickly as it had come, though, the fury drained away. His thoughts became bitter. Negative, completely undignified in his untidy state, and feeling like he'd just had a mountain dropped on him, he stamped away.

 _I may as well have lost that fight,_ he thought, a sour taste in his mouth.

* * *

Jyrath collapsed into the seat, a wary sigh escaping him. He pulled off his helmet, setting it on the table. He realized it was going to be a long night spent scrubbing his armor of the excessive amount of dirt that was on it now. It didn't have to be a perfect job, but good enough so the leather in it would not start rotting and cracking.

 _Perhaps I should oil the leather again when it's clean..._ he thought idly.

A dark elf wandered over to him. "Is there anything I can get for you?" she asked. He recognized her as the innkeeper's helper.

"A warm stew or soup would be fine," responded the elven man tiredly. "And some Sujamma." He'd grown somewhat fond of the dark-elven drink, even though he still hadn't figured out what it was made of.

Maybe that was for the best.

"Yes, serah." She hurried off.

And of course, it did not take long for his thoughts to turn to the current problem. He scowled at nothing. Miraak had called his willpower weak, but he knew that wasn't so. He'd taken back the stones of the land from the other dragonborn.

 _So what?_ His mind asked him in a condescending tone. _That's about all you can do against him_! He frowned further, but he had to admit there was truth to those words. What could he really do beyond free the people from their enslavement to the stones? And even that had not been completely accomplished. His power not been strong enough to take back the stone in the temple.

He exhaled, tired. He was weary of this gods-forsaken land, of all the ash and snow. It was bleak, cold, and miserable here. He did not enjoy it. A very large part of him was beginning to want to take Zin's advice and forget Solstheim - forget Miraak. As far as he was concerned, with the other stones free, there was little chance of the other's return.

 _And if he can return somehow without those stones, then let him. I'll slice him apart right on this ash-buried island._ _After all, pursuing him in Apocrypha is a folly. I am too weak there to slay him..._ _I'll simply find a way to free the remaining stone..._ _Then, I will leave this place._

He ate his meal quickly when it was brought to him, paid, and lingered for a while, sipping his sujamma.

After several blissfully thoughtless moments, an old elf walked over - because _of course he would_. His pale, ash-colored skin looked like gray paper, and his wrinkled face was accented by sharp, crimson eyes that glowed in the firelight. His wispy hair was whitening with age, and a thin beard adorned his jagged chin. He took a seat across from Jyrath, uninvited as far as the latter was concerned. The elf studied the dragonborn silently for a few seconds.

"What?" said the dragonborn, voice unfriendly.

"I saw you fight that dragon," the stranger said. His voice was surprisingly strong for his apparent age.

"Good for you," Jyrath quipped before he could place a filter between his mouth and brain. "I mean... Sorry, it's been a-" here, he gave a bark of a laugh, "-very long day."

"It's quite alright, young man. I understand... I actually wanted to thank you."

"...You're welcome?" Jyrath responded questioningly. It occurred to him that he did not get thanked as much as one might expect. Perhaps the typical citizens were too nervous to approach him directly.

 _Who would want to talk to a man who slays dragons like a farmer tends his field. It must be odd and unnerving for them._

"See," the old Dunmer was saying, "I have a great grandchild here. A young girl. She was so frightened when the dragon came today. I took her to the temple, so she was safe but...she still remembers another dragon that killed both her parents not almost a year ago. A dozen guards and two dozen citizens lay dead before it was finally brought down. That was the first any of us had heard of or seen of such a beast, and we did not know how to respond at the time.

"Not long after, though, the tales of the dragonborn were told in Raven Rock. And then, the glorious day that Alduin fell came. The whole of this side of the world celebrated."

Jyrath smiled without humor. "I know, old man... Yet, here I am, a year passed by, and I'm still killing the wretched things."

"It is your calling," the elf said.

"No wonder it sucks."

"In spite of that, we know now how to handle dragons. Yes, some die, but there are other hardships that kill just as often. But that is not all I wanted to speak of." The elderly Dunmer continued, "there is a corruption leaking into our world. You know it of it too. You have fought some of it back, I hear."

"Yeah...that sounds...right," Jyrath's face shifted into an expression of annoyance at the abrupt change in conversation. The dark elf was odd, indeed.

"This...Miraak...the one that...enslaved the people at dusk. He will...bring death and misery in his wake if left unchecked."

"What makes you think that?" Jyrath asked, staring into his mug now. "He hasn't really done anything beyond enslaving a few minds."

"When it began, I spent some time studying the corruption - I have some experience with this sort of matter - and I've reached the conclusion that it is the power of a..." his voice dropped conspiratorially, "...of a Daedra."

"Indeed? Well, he _does_ reside in Hermaeus Mora's realm... I guess it makes sense."

The elf looked at him, confusion falling across his face. "Don't you intend to stop it, dragonborn?"

"I..." Jyrath hesitated. He scowled. "Alright. Fine. How was I supposed to know an odd, old man would come over here and guilt-trip me?"

"You had thought not to?" There was a fair amount of surprise in the question.

"I was trying to evaluate if he was a real threat to this world. I don't know how much of one, but if he returned... I just realized he'd have armies of dragons rising in his wake. That is...bad..."

"He...controls them?"

"Yep." Jyrath sipped his drink again. "I have no doubt that he wants an empire in his name...or something along those lines."

"Then...you must stop him."

Jyrath stiffened, sitting straighter. He swirled the contents of his mug. "Seems the fight will always come to me... I grow weary." He drained his sujamma.

The old elf spoke, "it will not always be such, Dragonborn. Your battles will not last forever... They never do..." The man pulled back his sleeve. A nasty scar curved down the length of his arm. "I know war, and there is always an end, one way or another."

Jyrath blinked as the elf stood and walked away through the tables.

 _That was odd. Why would that elf even mention Miraak at all?_

He twisted in his seat, peering through the sea of people. The old man had moved incredibly fast, he thought, at his age, for there was no sign of him anywhere.

 _I'm too tired to think about this,_ he mused, slumping further into his seat. _I suppose it's just as likely that was a guilt-hallucination._ He nearly dreaded what would come next.

* * *

Zin inhaled, looking up and running her eyes around the dimly-lit room. The hum of magicka resonated from the walls, but beyond that, the silence was thick and unwavering. The scent of the warm tea drifted into the air, hovering in a comforting blanket in the cool room. The heat drifting into her fingers from the cup added to her calmness. She serenely gazed at small fires within braziers, their light flickering faintly against the far wall. She lowered her eyes once more to the book before her. She shifted one hand forward, flicking the page over in the old tome on the floor. She sipped the tea, allowing the words on the page to be absorbed into her thoughts.

The lighting in the room shifted, and she knew someone was standing there, not far away. She exhaled, setting her drink down. Wondering if she had missed the door opening somehow, she raised her eyes.

The ice mage started.

"Miraak," she said. There he stood, maskless, skin far more pale than she remembered. She pushed from the cushion she'd been sitting on, eyes widening. "How...?"

She stepped forward, reaching out her hand.

"I wouldn't-" Miraak started.

Her hand passed through his form, which was now obviously not solid.

Zin yanked her hand back as if stung. She straightened herself, clearing her throat. "I apologize," she stated curtly. "I should have known better."

"Do not apologize," he responded. "I long to feel your touch, as much as you long to give it."

She folded her arms, as if that awkward moment had not just happened. "How are you doing this, Miraak? I thought before that you had to contact us through the dream-state?"

"I can materialize in this world like this, but it is very exhausting on my part. Before, I needed all of my power directed to the spell...but now..."

"But now - what?" Zin asked, picking up on his tone. "What has happened?"

Miraak stared into her eyes, speaking evenly, "The shrines built to channel the power of the sacred stones have been destroyed, save for the one at the Tree Stone."

Zin shook her head. "You must be mistaken! They were guarded! I have not received an-"

The first dragonborn raised his hand, stemming the flow of her words, "this happened very recently. I suspect, at the moment, that the Children on the whole are unaware."

The arcane warrior shook her head. "Who could have done this? Was it Hermaeus Mora?"

"I would not be surprised if he influenced it, but as of now, I have no evidence that he was directly involved. No, the one responsible goes by the name of Jyrath Danger-Seeker and Last Dragonborn."

" _Impossible_..." Zin breathed. "He left. He was going to-" she stopped. "Forgive me, I have been such a fool! I let him walk right out of the temple, believing that he would just leave. I did not think that he would _lie_ straight to my face."

Miraak reached out both his hands, as if he wanted to lay them on her shoulders. After a moment, however, he dropped them, face twisting in an expression of uncertainty. Zin noted, that even though he were an insubstantial form, the firelight still danced ominously in his pale eyes. She could see, despite his disgruntled motion, that he was also angered.

"Do not blame yourself," he said. "I could have slain him, had I suspected he were a true threat. I mistakenly believed he was not."

The woman let out a loud sigh, face falling. "We will have to rebuild...so much time lost..."

"Indeed, but as long as the perpetrator of these actions is at large, he will continue to prevent any progress. He must be dealt with, first."

"What?"

"I know that you raised him. I am not oblivious to that. I am sure that you are likely attached to him. So I will ask for your help once, and then deal with him myself...without involving you further."

"No, Miraak," she responded. "I can't be apart of killing him... There must be another way." She shifted her arms and steepled her fingers in thought. "We could...restrain him. Seal him away. Imprison him. We don't have to kill him." Her words were tight.

The dragonborn's eyes narrowed. "You truly believe that will be enough?"

"Yes." She dropped her hands, expression hard.

"And you would...what? Cage him for the rest of his life?"

"Just until you were free."

"And when I am, do you suppose he will forgive you for that imprisonment? That it would change his mind and he would see our point of view? That he would stop pursuing us then? That it would not give him even more conviction to fight us afterward?" Miraak snorted. "It will not. Lest you forget, my father also thought such because he was too soft to end my life. Do you think the imprisonment he chose for me did either one of us any favors, Zin? You are wiser than this. Such half-measures are not good enough."

"Because of what Vahlok did, you are still alive," she shot back.

"No, because of what Hermaeus Mora did, I am still alive. Vahlok would have killed us both, and I would have preferred that to continued imprisonment."

She dropped her eyes. "Still. There has to be another way..." Dread was rising in her heart. How had this happened?

"Look," he said, his voice becoming oddly desperate. "You must understand, Honor. We all must sacrifice for a better world. We must face trials, and we must overcome them. We must rise to the challenge."

"This is more than a _challenge_!" she snapped. "That man is my son! If not in blood, then in bond! Do you have any idea what it is to have a son? You do not? Well, that is not my fault!"

"Nor is it mine!" he responded, voice finally filling with irritation.

"Because it's always Hermaeus Mora? Right? He owns your life, as always, and because of that, you can continue blaming him for every single thing that turns sour!"

"That is unfair of you, Zin."

Her eyes were chipped ice. "And it is not fair of you to ask me to help end my son's life!"

"Will you abandon me after all these centuries for that half-breed?" His fists clenched.

She grimaced. "You put me in the worst position of all. Miraak, just try to imagine this from my point of view, for a moment."

"Fine. Propose a better solution, and I will listen, Zin. But imprisonment is not a better solution."

She was silent for several moments, thinking. She had thought that she was willing, ready, and prepared to give anything to bring Miraak back to this world. No sacrifice was too much. And it hadn't been. Along with moving to Solstheim, which had been unpleasant, helping this man take over the people's minds had seemed a small evil to commit for a greater good. Just when she had been suspecting that it was paying off, that the final victory was at hand, _this_ had happened. Now, she was being asked to give up the one thing she thought she would never have to, to sacrifice the only thing that would tear her apart on the inside. All for this man, who was incredible, whom she had regretted not spending her life with so long ago. She was offered that chance again - a chance to start over...and now...

 _And now..._

 _The price is too high..._

 _But is it?_

Miraak was right. There was no better solution. Jyrath was also dragonborn, pig-headedly stubborn like his ancestor that stood before her. She knew that he would not stop fighting, until he had stopped breathing, because it was the same level of willfulness that Miraak always had. Imprisonment would not stop him. It would likely make any chance of reconciliation impossible.

And somehow, that was even worse than being apart of this plan of Miraak's to kill him.

 _Am I not capable of the worst, though?_

 _Was I not dishonor before? Did I not murder innocents? Did I not destroy everything I stood for, to become more? Did I not reclaim my honor afterward? I can go to the end of all that is honorable, and all that is not, and still return._

 _I can do it again._

Her words formed reluctantly, and there was a nasty flavor in her mouth when she spoke them, "just...what would you need from me? If...I agree to help you with this."

He visibly relaxed. "Your part, I have no doubt, will be simple enough. I will need to lure him to Apocrypha, where he will be weakened. Specifically, I will need him to come to the Summit of Apocrypha, so that Hermaeus Mora cannot interfere. I know how to do this, but he will not be able to approach the Summit without the black book that is here in my temple. You will allow him to read it... And he will require the final words of Bend Will."

"How does that involve me?"

"To learn Bend Will, Jyrath _will_ turn to Hermaeus Mora. I have checked to be sure that the last two Words of Power are nowhere else on this world after discovering that the first one was here. The words are not here, but a way of learning them is. In fact, there is a tome on this island very specifically interconnected with the second Word of Power. It is a black book from Apocrypha."

The ice mage put two and two together. "You're saying that he'll seek out Mora?"

"Yes. I have no doubt in my mind. He is young, foolish, as I was when I found the Daedra."

"I see."

"Hermaeus Mora will ask a favor in return, as he always does. It is likely that he will eventually ask him to become his new champion. History is repeating itself."

"And you have a plan to stop this, I suppose?"

"Yes. By offering the boy an alternative. We give him Bend Will, and deprive Mora of a new servant."

"Why do you care? If you kill him, why does it matter to you if you kill him as Mora's servant or not?"

"He will be weaker without Mora's goodwill behind him in Apocrypha. Besides, if I can deprive the Daedra of another dragonborn pawn, then that is a small victory in itself."

"I see. Just how am I supposed to give him the Word of Power? Even if I wanted to, I could not learn Bend Will quickly enough."

"I will Shout the words into...a tablet, or something similar, and it will leave an impression of their meaning on that stone... Like with the Word Walls. You can present it to him. As dragonborn, he should learn it almost instantaneously."

"I see," Zin replied. Her voice was still tight, unforgiving.

"Thank you, Zin. I cannot begin to express in words how much your help means to me. This would be far more difficult alone."

He reached forward, hovering his hand over hers. Zin met his gaze, and her eyes flashed. "I would do this for _no one_ else," she said. "Understand this sacrifice, Miraak. I will have to live with it for a very long time."

"I know this is hard for you," he murmured, never breaking eye contact. "I am so sorry, my love... I will repay you... I will. I will give you the world you've desired for so long. I will prove that it was all worth it. That the cneturies of struggle meant something..."

She raised her hand, and he brought his other one to it, as if he could clasp it.

To her utter shock, tears broke from her own eyelids and flowed down her face, but she refused to break composure now. "I hope so, Miraak. _I hope so_..." Her last words were so full of emotion, that she knew she was about to break down, regardless of how hard she was trying not to. Her throat was so tight now.

He began to fade away, his face full of pain as he watched her struggle. "I swear it," he whispered.

Then, he was gone.

Zin dropped to the cushion and cried, oblivious to everything but this new turn of events. The world did not exist. What would soon exist, though, was the terrible deed that she had agreed to help with. Her mind continuously replayed countless memories of raising Jyrath as a son, of teaching him how to fend for himself, of being there for him when he'd needed it, of preparing him for his destiny. She had held him in her heart, never knowing this to be the way it would end for him. How ironic, that her choice to give him her knowledge had lead to this inevitable conclusion that she could never have foreseen, even in her darkest nightmares.

 _Divines and Daedra, it is not fair! Why has it come to this?!_

It was a long time before her tears ended.

* * *

 _._

* * *

 _ **End of chapter.**_

 _ **Dovahzul Translations -**_

 _Zu'u los Faashilfrin! - I am Faashilfrin!_  
 _Faashilfrin(dragon name) - Fear - Heart - Heat_  
 _Faas zey! - Fear me!_  
 _Wah lorot hi viik thuri Alduin! Dovahkiin, hi los sahlo sahlag joor! - (derisively) To think, you defeat(ed) my overlord Alduin! Dragonborn, you are weak pathetic mortal!_

* * *

 **A/N** \- Shoot, I honestly do not mean to torture Zin this much, but it is inevitable. I feel very bad for her, and I'm the one writing this... :( Too bad she has no one to hug right now.

And I'm working five days next week, so I may or may not post my next chapter very quickly. It depends on how drained I am from the holiday rush. X)

Oh, and I also want to apologize if there were very many typos this chapter. I am very tired as of now(when I finished editing), but I tried to be careful, all the same.


	46. Always a Choice

~D~

XLVI. Always a Choice

(Alun aan Poguk)

With too much to occupy his mind, Miraak felt increasingly discontent. He attempted to meditate, to tame the wild emotions in his heart, but his mind was a roaring sea, full of swirling words and images. And no matter how he tried, he could not focus enough to drain these excess thoughts and feelings. He sat, still and alone, upon the Summit of Apocrypha, hearing nothing but the rustling of book pages and his own heartbeat in the near-silence. There was the smell of ink and parchment, as usual. The cloudy green skies of Apocrypha were foreboding, as usual. This realm was so barren and ominous, _as_ _usual_. Cross-legged, face turned above, he could do little else but think unendingly on all that had occurred.

 _I am caged,_ his mind whispered, and he shifted uncomfortably, scowling. _I must remember that it will not last forever._

The sounds of large, leathery snaps drew his attention - wing-beats. The flapping wings and thrumming heartbeat of the dragon reached him through the empty atmosphere long before its physical counterpart did. He watched the Serpentine materialize from the foggy gloom, growing closer with each shift of its body. Miraak did not move, even when the beast landed before him. He felt the shudder throughout the ground under him, the thud it caused echoing in his head.

"Sahrotaar," he greeted, carefully hiding his inner turmoil from the dovah.

"Thuri Miraak," returned the other.

"Anything to report?"

"No."

Miraak inhaled deeply, exhaling sharply. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, and time flowed ever onward as he struggled with his mind. Eventually, he gave up, opening his eyes. He found that the Serpentine had not moved. The immortal was still staring at him, and he realized something else; there was a certain level of agitation in the dovah's heart. Now that he focused on Sahrotaar, he could sense it through their connection.

 _Apparently, I am not the only one,_ he thought.

"What is the problem, Sahrotaar?" he asked.

"How do you do this?" the huge reptile voiced.

"Do what?" The dragonborn returned, furrowing his brows under his mask even further.

"Remain...calm...unchanged," the creature hesitated on his words, as if not sure how to put his problem into words.

"Unchanged," Miraak repeated.

"Yes... I feel...myself..."again, the dragon tried to voice his perspective, "a _ltered,_ perhaps"

"How so?"

"I do not know how to describe it... It is...my soul, perhaps... I often still hear Mindahrel's dying screams. I have forgotten what Nirn looks like. I have forgotten Parthurnaax's words. I've forgotten Kyne's sacred domain, the sky. I dream of...nothing but death and blood. And I want to...kill, but there is nothing to kill. I want to fight, but there is nothing to fight. I want to..." His words trailed off. "...It is as if I would do... _anything_ to...escape this state of mind, but at the same time, I want to give in and sleep forever in my dreams."

"I felt much the same before," Miraak confessed, "when I first realized I was imprisoned here. It is a natural reaction to the unnatural, Sahrotaar. This place could drive even the most willful being mad."

"Is that what this is? Madness?" There was greater concern in Sahrotaar's tone now.

"Do not worry. Once we return to our homeland, you will feel whole again."

"How could you know?" Sahrotaar asked. "It is difficult to believe that this...sensation will ever be gone... It clings like mud to my flesh."

"I _do_ know... I was so close. Trust me..."

The dragon gave a sudden jerk of his rounded head, raising his shoulders and webbing-lined neck. Spoke poured from his thin nostrils. " _Trust you_?!" the dovah growled, towering over the man. Miraak raised an eyebrow, listening to Sahrotaar's heart rate increase. "Are you not the one that commanded Mindahrel's demise?"

"What?" Miraak was incredulous. "I did no such thing! Hermaeus Mora instigated his end."

"You commanded us to let him die, which is just the same!" The serpent of a dragon bared his massive fangs.

"You are the one that pointed out before that there was no other choice," Miraak stated dryly. "Your current state of mind does not change that."

"Even if it was unavoidable, you have not felt even a _moment_ of remorse for it!"

Miraak snapped, "I do what I must!" His voice dropped. "And you have _no idea_ what I have or have not felt."

"You sit there...and meditate...and meditate...for so long... You have done _nothing_ , said _nothing_ of significance...and you have shown the dovah that serve you _nothing_! We gain naught for our loyalty, except to be there to take the killing blow for you!"

Miraak leapt to his feet, his own anger stirring. He struggled to push it down, though. "You are letting Apocrypha destroy your mind! Really, Sahrotaar, get ahold of yourself. Back down now before I demonstrate how far out of line you are."

The Serpentine roared, "I HAVE NO KNOWLEDGE ON HOW!" and his face shifted, more teeth revealed. His eyes blazed.

Miraak stepped forward. " _Trust me,_ " he commanded. "Am I not the one that you chose to serve so long ago?" He raised his hand to the dragon. "I will show you what you are too blind to see alone."

For a long while, the dovah simply stared at him, eyes narrowed. He was more tense than a rod of steel, but the fury was draining from his eyes. He let out a huge breath of air, lowering his nose until he was close enough to touch. Miraak lay his hand upon the scaly snout, and allowed himself to stop suppressing his emotions from his connection to the dragon. He also poured forth his memories to repair Sahrotaar's broken ones.

The Serpentine closed his eyes, absorbing it.

For several more moments, there was nothing but the sound of two beating hearts, one massive, one smaller, and the connection between dragon and man.

The dragonborn broke the silence. "I only showed no remorse for Mindahrel's death, because I could not afford to. I still cannot, but you now know that I feel it, even if I do not show it."

"I am sorry," the Serpentine finally said as quietly as he could. "Forgive me, Miraak."

"There is nothing to forgive," the former dragon priest replied. He stepped back. "It was I, who erred. I should have shown you, long before now... I should have helped you through Apocrypha's crushing influence sooner." He added thoughtfully, "and I suppose that Kruziikrel and Relonikiv could stand to have more support, as well. It would do no harm to speak with them."

"Their loyalty is astonishing," Sahrotaar noted. "Their own brother died...and so nearly did they...and yet their allegiance to you is as strong as ever. Instead, it was _I_ who doubted, even though we are connected, and it was not _my_ brother who was lost... I wonder why that is."

"Perhaps I had disconnected us," Miraak said, "by not being more open with you. I had diminished your loyalty by keeping you in the dark... Kruziikrel and Relonikiv, on the other hand, do not expect me to be as open as you do, and so they do not feel suspicious when I am not."

"True. But it could also be because I am Serpentine, too," Sahrotaar said. "My kind will always be different in mind from other dovah."

"Or a combination of both." Miraak turned away, gaze switching to the sky once more. "Since I now know that I should be more open with you, I have something to share. I recently learned that the last dragonborn has become Hermaeus Mora's new champion."

"So soon? I did not think it would happen so quickly... How did you learn of this?"

"Not long before you arrived-" Miraak stopped and chuckled darkly before continuing, "- _Hermaeus Mora_ appeared to me again. He is awfully fond of gloating. He informed me of this himself."

"Then the other dragonborn will have the Daedra's blessing?"

"Yes. He will not be weakened in Apocrypha again." Miraak exhaled, eyes fixing back onto the scaled immortal. "An unfortunate turn of events, as it were. I was too late to prevent Jyrath becoming a pawn in this Daedra's sick game. He now has the second Word of Bend Will, and will soon have the third. It will not be long before we face off in battle, but it will only drag on longer because of Mora... I do not wish it to... I...am...concerned."

"You are concerned about a _fight_?" the dragon replied, looking upon his master keenly. "That is unusual of you."

"Yes," the first dragonborn shifted, folding his arms. "I cannot help but feel as though everything is going exactly how Hermaeus Mora wants it. That is _never_ a good sign, and I trust my instincts. Something is not right."

"You will succeed, Thuri," The dragon said. He twisted himself around and stomped away. "You always pull through... As for myself, I will go find the brothers. You should speak to them, too. It is important that their devotion will not waver when tested."

Miraak said nothing as the Serpentine glided off. He was still trying to figure out how to smother his thoughts and regain his calmness. He knew it would not be easy.

 _None of this will be easy._ _It never is, and never will be._

* * *

Jyrath the Danger-Seeker strode into the Skaal village purposefully, his boots crunching in the icy snow, the sound muffled by its thickness. The gloomy skies spat out snow as he made his way through the small, rustic houses. The biting wind swept over him, bringing mild discomfort in its wake. With one hand, he adjusted the cloth on his face, trying to cover more skin from the harsh temperatures. He was thankful for his mostly warm armor, the layers of leather and bone making the harsh northern climates of Tamriel tolerable. His other hand clutched the _Epistolary Acumen_ to his chest.

He easily located the one he was looking for, Storn, shaman of the Skaal. The old man was kneeling on the ground outside the Greathouse, his eyes closed. Jyrath approached him. The other opened his eyes, attention fixating upon the black book that the half-elf held. It did not take the Last Dragonborn long to explain the situation to him, how he needed the final Word of Power, and Hermaeus Mora would only gift it to him in return for the "secrets of the Skaal" - whatever that was.

"Hermaeus Mora..." the old man muttered thoughtfully afterward. "Old Herma-Mora himself. So he is the source of Miraak's power? Of course. We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him. And now he comes again for what we have long kept from him."

"So what are the secrets of the Skaal, exactly?"

"Ancient lore, handed down from shaman to shaman since the All-Maker first gave us Solstheim. How to talk to the wind, how to listen to the earth - these are our secrets. Nothing of power of mastery."

"Why would Hermaeus Mora want them? It seems...so simple...insignificant to someone-er, _something_ , like him."

"We know him as Herma-Mora, the Demon of Knowledge. It is in his nature to horde secrets to himself. Their value to him is of no consequence. The very fact that the Skaal have kept knowledge from him has merely increased his desire to have it."

"He said it's the only way he'll teach me the final Word of Miraak's Shout," Jyrath insisted, trying to push down his annoyance with the entire situation. How the Daedra had managed to make such a big deal out of something so small, he wasn't sure.

The shaman gave a weary sigh. "So it falls to me to be the one to give up the secrets to our ancient enemy. I do not know if I have the strength to face him. The Tree Stone is still corrupted... The land is still out of balance. But with the other five restored... it may be enough. It will have to do."

"You mean you'll give him what he wants?" The last dragonborn had been expecting the old man to resist this. He'd even been secretly hoping that there might be a good argument on the shaman's part, too - that there might be another way... Even though the secrets were apparently minor in value, it still felt wrong to take them from these people without their wanting to give them up.

 _Ugh, let's just get this over with. It's all for the_ greater good _, right?_ He inwardly snorted. _Great, now I'm becoming like_ them _. Miraak and Zin... It's not right...but_ _it's not like I'm enslaving people, either. I'm just adding the Skaal's secrets to another library...so to speak._ _Nope, still doesn't feel right. But i_ _t's not_ that big _of a deal..._ _Except for the fact that I now have to eat my own wor-_

His inner argument was interrupted by Storn, "Yes. The Skaal also tell of the day when we must finally give up our secrets. When Herma-Mora finally wins. As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to decide when it is necessary to give them up. I believe that time is now. If I am wrong, may my ancestors forgive me. Give me the book. I will read it, and speak to old Herma-Mora myself. I will make sure he lives up to his part of the bargain."

"I hope you know what you're doing." Jyrath proffered the book.

The old man placed his hand on the cover, his wizened face stretching into a grimace. The last dragonborn had an odd moment in which he didn't want to release the book. He met the other's gaze, and finally relaxed his fingers to let the dark tome go.

"That is my hope as well," Storn rasped. "I am trusting you will make this sacrifice worthwhile."

A voice called out from a few feet away. Jyrath jumped, having not even noticed her. It was Frea. She hurried up to them. "Father, you must not do this!" she cried. "That book is...wrong! _Evil!_ Against everything that you have taught me my whole life!"

"I must, Frea. It is the only way to free Solstheim forever from Miraak's shadow... There comes a time when everything must change. Nothing that lives, remains the same forever... Do not fear for me, my daughter. This is the destiny that the All-Maker has laid out for me."

The woman looked as if she might disagree verbally, but she seemed to decide against it. She murmured, "I stand beside you, father, as always."

Storn turned back to Jyrath, raising the _Epistolary Acumen_. "I am ready for whatever the foul master of this book has in store for me."

"STOP!"

The trio froze, the shaman with his thumb between the pages, but the book not open yet. All eyes changed directions to where a lone figure strode towards them with a hurried pace. As the figure became more visible through the drifting snow, Jyrath realized that it was a woman. She stopped a few paces away, and he recognized her.

Zin.

"There is another way," she stated calmly. Her jaw was set, and her eyes were hard, chipped, glittering like ice. Her hair blew about in the icy wind, her uncovered face flushed, but she looked as if she didn't even notice the cold.

"How did you find me?" Jyrath demanded, hand falling to his sword. Was she there to kill him on Miraak's behalf? Well, if so, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Still, he didn't really believe that. He could not truly believe in his heart that Zin would attack him, or truly try to harm him, not after all the years they'd known each other. Not after coming to know her as a mother...

 _Still, it is a possibility,_ the colder and more jaded part of his mind whispered. _Isn't she willing to do anything for the "greater good."_

 _I'm getting really sick of that line,_ he told his subconscious.

"It was not difficult to track you down," Zin said. She raised her hand, magicka glittering on her fingertips. "I used a spell that leads one to what they are seeking...if what they seek is close enough."

"You serve Miraak, do you not?" The shaman interjected calmly.

"No," Zin said. "I do not _serve_ him. What I do, I do of my own free will. I am, however, his...ally."

The old man lowered the book, staring at her keenly. "Why have you come here? You spoke of another way?"

Zin looked to Jyrath. "I have come to try and talk this fool out of his self-imposed, self-righteous mission..."

The half-Altmer rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

Zin continued, voice softening slightly, "Please, do not make the same mistake Miraak did...that _I_ did. Do not give Hermaeus Mora the chance to win you to his side completely."

"What do you mean, _your_ mistake?" He asked, furrowing his brow. "You once served Mora?"

"Once, yes...but no longer," she confessed, "and not directly. I served him through Miraak...and if I had been more valuable to him, I could very well be in the same situation...trapped, with no way out."

"And your point is?" Storn asked before Jyrath could say anything.

"I'm getting to that... But first, I want to say this - know that we had no intention of harming your people, Shaman," Zin said.

"You have a strange way of showing it," the old man shot back.

"We...had no choice. But I must ask you, were your people any worse for wear after being freed?"

"So far...it does not seem so," Storn conceded. "But I do not trust you or Miraak. His power is unnatural, and your methods...troubling, to say the least."

"I understand," she replied, face expressionless.

Jyrath growled. "Didn't I tell you there's always a choice!?"

Zin snapped her eyes to him. "Miraak is right, indeed..." she said, as though reassuring herself. "You are...naive...idealistic...and you will not give up..." She blinked rapidly, trailing off.

The dragonborn took a step forward, face twisting. "What? Naïve?" He asked. "I conquered Alduin!"

"You don't have to be wise to kill the strongest dragon, apparently," she responded. She shook her head. "Turn away from this now, Jyrath, please... I _implore_ you... Actually, don't answer that, for you might just _lie_ to me again."

"And if I had been honest to you back at the temple, would you have let me leave?"

"Perhaps I would have...perhaps not. Regardless, we will never know now, will we?"

"I have to do this, Zin. I cannot turn a blind eye to this when I _know_ it would be wrong to. Would you? I-"

"Stop this," the shaman stated in such a commanding tone, Jyrath's words died away. "You speak endless circles around each other, but you will not change your mind... And you, Miraak's ally, you said there is another way for this dragonborn to learn the third Word of Power. I would like to hear your method. If I can avoid giving up our secrets to Herma-Mora, I would prefer that."

Zin nodded. "Miraak will face him, personally... Jyrath, you don't have to go about this in such a difficult manner. In fact, now that you've destroyed his hold on the Sacred Stones, Miraak firmly believes that this is the only way... He is a prisoner of the Summit of Apocrypha. That is where Mora wants...this battle..." Here, she stopped for a few seconds, before continuing. "It is no coincidence, either, that it is so difficult to reach. Hermaeus Mora wanted it to be impossible for you to face Miraak without relying on him. All so that the Shaman would give up their secrets...and he could gain a new, powerful, dragonborn servant."

She cleared her throat and added purposefully, "and I'm here, so the Skaal don't have to give in to him...so _you_ don't have to. I'm here, to give you a choice. That is, if I give you the Word of Power to reach Miraak..."

"How can you give me the Word?"

"The Word is at the temple, now. Miraak left it for you, though he said it would likely take more effort to learn it, than usual. Bend Will is a...challenging Shout to master, he claims," She folded her arms. She abruptly shifted her eyes upward.

Jyrath felt uncomfortable. He could sense her disquiet. _But still..._ "How can you help _him_ , Zin? It is not just his enslavement of the innocents that I fight against. If he is free, there will be even more chaos and suffering than before, no matter what he claims! He would not hesitate to build an army of dragons with his Voice, to bring war in his wake, to conquer Tamriel... How is that going to be his promised _peace_?!"

"Did _Tiber Septim_ sit on his laurels and paint butterflies while daydreaming of peace!?" Zin snapped. "No. He wrought war, and all for the better. He forced in a golden age at the point of a sword. And it worked. That is, how it must be."

"True that Talos conquered so many...but he had empathy for those people, too!"

The ice mage gave a frustrated noise. "You know nothing, and I am _done_ arguing this."

"You refuse to see it! How can I trust you? You want Miraak to kill me!"

"I..." she cleared her throat, "do not want that, but your actions have...made it impossible, otherwise... I told you to leave well enough alone, but you couldn't... Now, you will face him, regardless. It is inevitable. But no matter what else happens, I am only asking that you do not allow Hermaeus Mora to win...again...and again...and again. He is fond of these twisted games, destroying mortal's hopes and dreams, crushing our bonds and ties..."

With that, the dragonborn finally found that he had ran out of words. He looked to the shaman, heart full of fresh uncertainty.

"It is your decision, Dragonborn," Storn said softly, eyes understanding. "You have heard the facts, even though you are uncomfortable with them. I, however, will trust your judgment. If you do not believe this woman will keep her word, then I will speak with Herma-Mora."

Jyrath almost wanted to tell the Skaal shaman to do just that, but he knew that would just be the impulsive part of him speaking. He had to look at this objectively.

He soon realized that his mind was already made up. He lost his tension.

"Fine," he said, eyes locking with Zin's again. "Give take me to the final Word... And then I will destroy Miraak, just as I've destroyed all who arrogantly try to take-over-slash-destroy the world."

"Naïve indeed," she murmured, and then turned away.

Jyrath almost thought he saw tears in her eyes. He blinked, though, and they were gone.

It was impossible, he knew. He had simply imagined it.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter.**_

 _ **No Dovahzul.**_

 _ **A/N** \- Whew. I thought those two would never stop arguing. XD_

 _I digress, the next four chapters are very closely-connected and will bring about an end to **Part Two: Legacy**. I'll probably not post the next chapter until they are all done, and they will likely be posted very close together(maybe a day apart from each other, two at the max). Two of them are very short, so it won't take as long as it sounds. One of my longer ones is already finished, and the others are written as rough drafts. _

_I admit that I am vastly curious, yet slightly apprehensive, as to how the ending of **Part Two: Legacy** will be received. _

_On an entirely different note, I have made some changes to my profile page to include some things related to my Elder Scrolls works. If you're curious, check it out. Oh, and I now have a new cover art for my story, made by the one and only - me. :) There's a larger version of the image up at Deviantart, for those who are curious. Details are in my profile. That being said, I'd like to get some art for this story up, eventually. I want to do an image with Zin in it, but haven't decided on how to go about it..._

 _And here I am, rambling. I've taken enough of your time, so have a wonderful day!_


	47. Lucid Dream

~D~

XLVII. Lucid Dream

(Baar Hahnu)

 _Waking dreams...lucid dreaming,_ Miraak mused. The idea that one could be fully conscious while unconscious. That in itself was what Apocrypha represented. It'd taken time, but he finally understood this simple fact. Apocrypha was many things, but primarily, it was a waking dream in Oblivion, and that was the reason why the book with the shared title was the most powerful of them all. That's why it had led him to the Summit of Apocrypha, the most versatile part of the Hermaeus Mora's realm. The simple act of entering the realm directly linked one's own consciousness with the Daedra who ruled here, whether intended or not. It was how he'd reached out to the Daedra during his imprisonment in Vahlok's jail.

It'd taken Miraak a cold many lifetimes to realize they weren't actual lifetimes he was living.

The waking dream in Oblivion was one's own consciousness, and he was painfully aware that was all he had left of himself. Hermaeus had not lied to him on that fact. He was dead, at least as far as Nirn was concerned. His will, his thoughts, his soul were condensed into a body that could live in this nightmare of a realm, only. That was the root of his captivity, and the complexity of it was largely due to Hermaeus Mora's own fondness for deceiving mortals into his servitude, but it wasn't enough to the Daedra to simply deceive, he had to do it so...creatively.

 _Demented creature..._

And now, Jyrath himself was another unwilling pawn on the board. Or perhaps he was willing. Had Miraak not been a willing participant himself at one point? Regardless, the boy showed a great strength, and when Miraak had his soul, he'd rebuild those shrines he'd lost. But not only that, he'd have all the power of Apocrypha, Solstheim, and the other dragonborn behind him.

His power would tame the land, and he would stand atop the world, blade and staff in hand and know that he'd survived it all. Zin would be at his side, and his followers would march behind them. Nirn would have its dragonborn ruler, as it was meant to. And he'd remember how he'd managed to outwit a daedra, slay a dragonborn, and turn the very planes of Mundus to his will. The very thought of it made him burn with the need to fight again, for he wanted it to be reality, not just a dream.

Miraak had no doubt in his mind. He had a purpose again. Destiny was his road, and he was content to follow it, as he was meant to.

Miraak sat still, his gaze on nothing in particular. Apocrypha's typical silence was even more eerie than normal. Sahrotaar rested nearby, his breathing even louder in the silence. His heartbeat was like a thrumming hammer, pounding steadily on and on.

"I will no longer be able to hear your heartbeat when we return to Solstheim," Miraak told the dovah, mostly out of boredom.

The dragon snorted and turned his head around. "That is why you should have been born with the ears of a dovah, too," he said. "And the scales, wings and claws of one. It would help in this upcoming fight of yours..."

"If I had all that you just mentioned, then there would be nothing left to distinguish me from the dragons... The Thu'um and soul is all I need."

"Yes, as you have always believed unwaveringly."

"And it has carried me through," Miraak said, his tone defensive.

"This enemy of yours. The dragonborn...and this fight he brings... It will not be easy."

"When has it ever been? I have always fought losing battles, but I will never give in." He looked to the sky. "It will be...odd, becoming reaccustomed to life outside of here."

"You are so certain that-" The dragon's head snapped up. " _He_ is here. _Faal laat dovahkiin_."

"I know," Miraak replied. "Do not worry, Sahrotaar. He has not my power. Together, we shall crush him. Then, I...can...go home."

It was so strange to say those words. In a way, he regretted the need of the other's death. However, that had always been his existence, crushing so he himself would not be crushed; if he did not kill this dragonborn, Hermaeus Mora would eventually kill him.

That's where all his plans had come together.

Soon, freedom would be his. He so yearned to walk upon the snowy lands of Skyrim once again. He ached to feel that icy wind. He longed to be where there were so many noises, and one could not hear their own heartbeat. He was weary of staring at mountains of books and seas of slime and tentacles. He was tired of constantly living in fear that Hermaeus Mora should kill him. And most importantly, he was just ready to claim the destiny that he had been denied so long ago.

How could that not be his purpose?

He blinked, tensed, and pushed to his feet. He whipped his gaze upward. Sahrotaar inhaled, the sound like a mighty cavern filling with air.

Hermaeus Mora was there above them, eyes glittering in the dim, green light of the world.

"What do you want?" Miraak snapped. "I have not suddenly decided to let you through."

"Of course not, Miraak. I would not expect you to...no," his voice dropped to a snarling hiss. " _I don't need you to, either, Miraak_... My new champion will do that..." the voice softened after a moment. "This path...should not have gone this way, you know... It was you who so stubbornly walked it."

"I will not listen to you any longer."

"And drown out the truth? It is what you do _best_."

"Yes," Miraak responded. "I know how it goes. You're right, I'm wrong. I should have sat quietly, I suppose. I should've been a good slave to your whims, and trusted you, even after your lies." He gave an indignant noise of disgust. "Your very expectation of such is insulting. _You_ should've known better, being the keeper of knowledge and destiny! _You_ chose this path! _You_ should have known where it will lead!"

"I do have to commend you on how you delayed the secrets of the Skaal from becoming mine... I will have them in time, but it was... _inspired_...Miraak..." the Daedra Prince trailed off, eye blinking slowly. Eventually, he said, "Once upon a time, you had a great destiny under my guidance...and now, well...you are nothing but a forgotten mark on history..."

The first dragonborn folded his arms, having no immediate retort for that.

"It is nearly time, Miraak. I'll be waiting..."

"Then let your _'new'_ champion come. I will take his soul, and you won't ever reach me again."

The big eye blinked slowly. "So you believe..." It faded away, and Miraak loosened his tense muscles as he felt the Daedra's presence evaporate like fog. His fingers uncurled, and he realized he'd had his fists clenched. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here.

Sahrotaar spoke, "If your Thu'um holds mastery, Thuri, you will kill this... _joor_."

"My thu'um _does_ hold mastery above all others', especially over a mere _boy's_!" Miraak snarled, sitting back down. He took several deep breaths before continuing. "He will fall. My weapons are stronger, my magicka deadlier, my experience greater."

A shadow was cast on the Summit in the green light. Kruziikrel swept in, lowering himself onto one of the arches, flapping his wings to steady himself. He looked at Sahrotaar for a minute, and then at Miraak. "Relonikiv is on his way, Lord Miraak."

"Good."

Miraak let himself relax for a minute. There was little point in getting adrenalized _before_ this battle. He was more than ready for it, but he knew unnecessary stress would only distract him. Still, he felt anticipation that would not go away, no matter how he breathed or tried to meditate. Flames coursed through his veins, increasing his awareness and his desire to fight. His _dovahsil_ was _on fire_. He hated waiting for this. Even through all the patience he'd gained, this one moment would not come to him fast enough. There was no way to judge time in this never-ending plane of Oblivion.

"This is it, Sahrotaar," Miraak said. He could sense the presence of the other dragonborn, drawing ever closer to that inevitable confrontation. He could even hear the sounds of fighting from far below the tower and the distinct yelling of a mortal voice paired with the explosive sounds of immortal, dovah Shouts ringing through the atmosphere.

 _Impressive Thu'um._ The first dragonborn almost smiled, in spite of himself. It would be a good fight. "I do not think that Apocrypha will hold this one back."

"Good," Sahrotaar spoke. He shifted himself, tensing. "I shall go and make his life more difficult before he reaches this place."

"If you feel you must. There is no need to die for this, though. Return soon."

"I'm eager for blood." The dragon lifted into the air, and the two remaining dragons of the Triad watched him.

"He is _too_ eager," Kruziikrel said. "It is unlike him to be this way... It will be time still before the _joor_ can reach the Summit. It is almost impossible for one without wings."

Relonikiv looked out over the green, agreeing, "Sahrotaar has been...different, lately."

Miraak stood slowly. "I have sensed nothing through my connec-" he broke off, knowing that wasn't entirely true. The Serpentine had shown a moment of broken loyalty not long ago, but he had mended that. "Sahrotaar is fine."

"You must have been so caught up in these recent events," Kruziikrel rumbled, "that you failed to see it in him, Thuri."

"What do you speak of?" Miraak asked, uneasy by his words.

"Uncertainty," Relonkiv supplied, shifting his gray wings. "Sahrotaar no longer trusts you, Lord Miraak. Such is the nature of the Serpentines, to be so... _deceptive_..."

"Yes, I know he had a moment of uncertainty, but he worked through it. I helped him."

"Once such a faith is broken," the Triad sibling rumbled, "it will never be properly mended. It scars, and is weaker."

"That is not tru-" the former dragon priest was interrupted by three Words of Power that confirmed this truth.

 _"GOL HAH DOV!"_ echoed across the plain of Oblivion to assualt his ears with harsh honesty.

His connection to Sahrotaar shattered in a brief and very distinct moment that Miraak knew he could not forget. A cold shard of betrayal lanced through him, and yet, his blood boiled. He clenched his fists. His connection should have protected the Serpentine. The only reason it hadn't, was because Sahrotaar did not allow it to. He had wanted to serve the last dragonborn, all along.

 _After all these long years..._

 _After all I've done for him..._

 _I will never trust a free-minded dovah again!_

He spun to the two remaining dragons. "GOL HAH DOV!" he Shouted, ensnaring their thoughts and stealing their free will. He would not risk losing them, as well.

"I apologize, my servants, but this is for your own good," he said.

There was a flap of wingbeats from the distance. He turned and spotted Sahrotaar rising up into the air. Upon his neck, so tiny from this distance, was the last dragonborn. In fact, they both were small, like insignificant ants.

 _They will die,_ Miraak's inner dragon snarled. He fixed upon them, his gut twisting in anger. _So be it... Come and face your end, both of you! I am more than prepared to spill blood!_

* * *

 _._

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter._**

 ** _Dovahzul Translations -_**

 _Faal laat dovahkiin - The last dragonborn._

 _ **A/N** \- Short chapter, I know, but next one is nice and long and full of epic action - it's my rendition of the fight between the first and last dragonborn. It just needs one more edit, and then it's good to go. So I hope you're ready for it! I have every intention to have it up after twenty-four hours. I'm very excited to post it, too! In fact, I'd post it sooner, but the site won't update it like there's a new chapter if I do. _

_I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I hope you're having a great day!_


	48. Fight to the Death

_**A/N** \- Ermahgerd... It's here! Gotta admit, this chapter was rather difficult to write. I think I had to piece together the rough draft alone in four or five intervals. Tons of edits... Lots of notes about adding this or that as I went along... Whew. *wipes brow* But now it's done!_

 _Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

~D~

XLVIII. Fight to the Death

(Krif wah Dinok)

"Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?" Miraak demanded, hostility filling him. His inner dragon snarled loathing at the traitorous snake of a dovah, and he wanted to rip the beast apart. He pushed the feeling down, knowing it would do him little good at this point. Giving in to anger now would only weaken him. "I should have anticipated that you would betray me," he spat, a part of him wanting to hear an explanation for the traitor's actions and hoping he would get one out of the Serpentine Dragon.

The gray-blue dragon landed several paces from him, serpentine eyes on Miraak, but he did not answer. Jyrath Danger-Seeker dropped from his neck onto the ground, drawing his sword, raising his shield defensively. The two dragons behind Miraak tensed. He felt the remaining Triad siblings ready to strike, their Thu'ums threatening to burst from their jaws.

"No, not yet, " Miraak commanded, holding up his hand to them. "We should greet our guest first." He felt them relax slightly, his will overpowering their own. He dropped his arm.

He approached his foe, and their gazes locked. He felt a shift in the tension in the air. He stopped when they were mere paces from each other, sizing the younger warrior up.

He sensed that it was going to be a bitter, nasty, and brutal fight, but then again, all fights were. They were always hateful, unpleasant, yet also necessary affairs. True, Miraak was older and wiser than this boy. True, he was far more powerful. However, this young mortal, even inexperienced, was still a dragon, and a dragon that had overpowered Aluin, no less. But Miraak had no doubt that he'd win. His power would surpass this young half-breed.

In truth, he admitted to himself that he regretted it. This man was not his real enemy in this fight; his true nemesis was Hermaeus Mora - had always been. Miraak mentally scowled. He still could not fathom the betrayal of the creature, even after all this time. Perhaps even the Prince of Knowledge saw the necessity of a dragonborn, so had decided to keep one around. Regardless, neither Jyrath the Last Dragonborn or Hermaeus Mora the Lord of Apocrypha would stop him now.

With this final battle, he would be free.

He spoke to the half-elf, assuming that such a moment as this deserved a buildup, "and so the First Dragonborn...meets the Last Dragonborn...at the Summit of Apocrypha." He kept his voice calm, despite his eagerness for blood.

"It seems that way," came the response.

Their eyes blazed. Both knew there could be no other outcome, but death. The fires of two hostile dovah burned in them both, and their dragon souls were awakening to an ancient and powerful instinct - the longing for battle with their own kind. But Miraak knew how to control his own. On the outside, he was as calm as a scholar in a library. On the contrary, he noted how the other fidgeted where he stood.

He told the last dragonborn, "Fate has decreed that your life is to be given so that I can have mine returned to me."

"And you blindly bow to fate, don't you?" the younger warrior taunted, shifting his shield arm. "You are more like your former master than you know!"

"You should be above such pathetic insults now, Dragonborn. Before...it was amusing...now, it is pointless. This is no longer a game. This is the end for you."

"Tell me, Miraak, did so-called _destiny_ drag you here? Why not have free will and be what you choose?"

"I have chosen," responded the first dragonborn. "And that very action has led me to my power...to my destiny! Do not distinguish between fate and choice...there is no difference."

"The difference is knowing when to stop destroying others for your own sake."

"It is not for my own sake alone, Dragonborn, that I do this. If enslaving those peasants on Solstheim is a step on the path to peace, then I will gladly take it."

His opponent's eyes glinted darkly under his helm, brimming with hatred and bloodlust.

Miraak almost grinned to himself when he saw that he'd struck a nerve. He did not go to the effort of bringing the last dragonborn here, after all, just to discuss ideals. No, he was ready for a fight. He was ready to kill. He felt his _dovahsil_ afire, and the dragon within was ready to destroy.

 _He feels the same._

" _There_ ," Jyrath spat, practically snarling. "I knew we were different. It's that ice-cold heart, isn't it? I'm the one who's half-Altmer, and yet you're the one who's never felt anything other than your desire for power!"

"You know far less than you admit, and your ignorance has cost you your life, even if you don't realize it yet."

"And what about _you_?" The last dragonborn tensed. He seemed to be barely holding back from attacking, now. "You, with all of the knowledge of a Daedra, and yet you are ignorant to just as much as you claim I am! You messed up first, got yourself stuck here. Now, you're making others pay for it."

Miraak frowned under his mask. "You have no right to judge my mistake. You too have chosen the knowledge of the Daedra as well, to be his puppet."

"I do not want to serve him."

Miraak chuckled darkly. "No. You won't. Not until it is too late to realize that you already _do_ serve him..."

"I do not wish his secrets." The half-elf fidgeted, suddenly looking distracted.

"But you _do_ , don't you?" Miraak prodded. "You want that promise of power. You think, that if you just go a little further, bargain a little more, read another line, then you will be that much more powerful. What is the _harm,_ you think, of one more promise, of one more foul deed, in the face of what you will gain? In your heart, you know, there lies the power that will make your enemies bow, and your allies true. You'll want for nothing, and achieve _everything_! Don't be afraid to admit it. It is a weakness that the Daedra are adept at manipulating in mortals. Our desire to better ourselves - how easily it is turned on us."

Jyrath struggled to form words for a moment, and then said, "I..I don't. Why would I be...that stupid?"

Miraak snorted, knowing he'd struck true. "You lie often, boy, even to yourself." He exhaled. "Otherwise, you would not have spared Alduin, when you should have struck him down instead. Not only do you not follow any destiny, but you are also controlled by fear."

The half-elf froze, shock evident on his face. Miraak triumphantly thought it was an expression fitting of a skooma dealer having his stash discovered. He was conquering his foe in a verbal debate so easily. Just how much easier would the physical counterpart be? he wondered.

"Yes. I _know_ ," the first dragonborn continued, intent on shredding his enemy's confidence. "I live in a world of secrets, dovahkiin, and yours fits neatly into the category that Hermaeus Mora likes to snatch. Dark, fearful promises made for power. I would not go into battle without such information on my opponent."

"You...don't..." Jyrath trailed off. He regained himself, though, and his face twisted in fury. "Not only are you an _arrogant ass_ , but now you are simply insufferable. I don't need to explain or defend that decision to you!"

Miraak laughed sardonically.

Jyrath shook his head, as though shrugging off a set of thoughts, and changed the subject, "You know what's really ironic? If your people had waited even a week before trying to attack me...I wouldn't have been ready or even nearby for your little cult to get at so easily."

"That is not irony, dragonborn. When my enemy is the master of fate, I've little doubt such timing is just as Hermaeus Mora intended. He is a fickle master, you know. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over." He straightened his shoulders, readying. He felt electricity run through his being. His heart rate increased. "Enough talk!" he declared. "Are you a warrior or not? The conflict of battle is where this will be ended, not in petty mortal words! You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power!"

"Sounds great to me!" The younger fighter dropped into a stance. "Let's do this, old man!"

Miraak almost snorted again at such a weak taunt. He added, amused, "You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again..." He summoned his Thu'um armor to him, "MUL QAH DIIV!"

"I will not give you the chance!" responded the other.

"Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! Now!"

"Sahrotaar!"

Miraak's dragon servants leapt forward, their wings beating the air. Sahrotaar rushed to his own thuri's defense without hesitation. The dragons collided together in the middle of the battleground. The tussling mass of scales and claws plummeted, sending tremors through the Summit of Apocrypha upon impact. The two dragonborn staggered to safety, scrambling away from the twisting, fighting forms of the dovah.

"How easily you betray me, Sahrotaar, after all these years!" Miraak snapped, eyes flashing.

His rage at the betrayal fueled the dragons under his sway. With this added energy, Relonikiv locked his jaws upon Sahrotaar's neck. His teeth sunk into the other dragon. Miraak could almost feel it as his own attack, as if he were the dragon, as if dark blood flowed down his own jaws to drip onto the ground. Behind Sahrotaar, also filled with Miraak's own anger, Kruziikrel tore at the traitorous dovah's hide.

With that, the first dragonborn turned his attention to his mortal opponent. He could see his chance. The warrior was obviously distracted, eyes on the Serpentine, struggling to keep his mind upon the dragon under his sway. It was easy to tell he wasn't used to controlling dragons in this manner. It took much practice and experience to hold a dovah to one's will, and Miraak could do it effortlessly and still fight, where as he was beginning to realize the other was not as good at it.

Miraak raised his hand. Lighting raced from his fingers in a deadly bolt. Jyrath was slammed with the voltage of the attack, hitting the floor. Miraak strode forward, lifting his blade. The other dragonborn rose to his feet, leveling his own weapon. He'd not lost Sahrotaar, though, because the dragons were still brutally fighting in the middle of the arena.

 _Maybe that is because Sahrotaar wants to serve him,_ Miraak mused angrily. He closed on the last dragonborn.

Jyrath Shouted, "MUL QAH DIIV!" He glowed under the new layer of armor formed from his Shout.

"So you use my own power against me?" Miraak observed, halting. It was odd to hear another Shout those very words. "You learn quickly. Did you know such a Shout can only be used by a dragonborn?"

"Are you normally this chatty in a fight?" The elven man shifted forward, swinging his sword of dragonbone down. Miraak blocked the attacked with his staff.

"No. This is your doing, apparently."

The warrior drew back, swiping from the side. Miraak blocked that as well. Then, Jyrath rushed him. His shield smashed him hard in the chest. He stumbled and the blade flashed out. He barely twisted away. But he felt the blade clash with his armored shoulder, glancing off with such indirectness.

A roar echoed in their ears so loud it made Miraak wince. Relonikiv flopped forward, stumbling so close he nearly crashed into his master. Miraak avoided it. Sahrotaar clung to the back of his loyal dragon's neck, digging claws deep into the other dovah's scales. Kruziikrel unleashed a stream of flames upon the rebellious dragon. The first dragonborn wrenched back again as Relonikiv tipped through the air and crashed forward. He thrashed against one of the archways and it tumbled, collapsing upon itself. Sahrotaar kept tearing and tearing as if it were all he knew in this world of chaos. Kruziikrel snarled and snatched at his tail, clamping his maw down upon it, trying to free his brother from the Serpentine. He yanked, dragging the dovah backwards. Flesh and scales tore to the sound of dragons screeching. Finally, Sahrotaar released his grip. With a snarl, Relonikiv flopped sideways, rolling to his feet. He howled.

To Miraak's surprise, the last dragonborn darted forward while the three dovah collected themselves. The half-breed threw his arm out, stabbing his blade up into one of the distracted dragon's chest. Deep scarlet rained down. Relonikiv twisted away, spitting, the blade ripping from him. With a gush of air in the normally still atmosphere, the dragon took flight. Behind the last dragonborn, Miraak's eyes caught sight of Sahrotaar falling, Kruziikrel upon him.

Miraak saw Jyrath rush towards him at the same time. The first dragonborn threw, at first, a shock, and then a fire spell at the enemy. Jyrath's shield blocked both effectively, and Miraak knew it was likely there was a powerful resist magicka enchantment on it. With a roar, the younger dragonborn closed the distance between them. Miraak blocked a series of strikes, watching his enemy carefully. He could tell there was an attack pattern to the young man's strikes, similar to the style that they taught to the soldiers of the Empire's Legion. It made sense, he knew, as this man had once been apart of the Legion.

With the perfect series, and sharp follow up of three well-timed strikes, the dragonborn left himself open. A regular enemy would have been too stunned by the power behind those first few blows to seize on the opening that was left behind, but Miraak was no regular enemy. He slipped his blade forward, and it sank through the dragonbone armor. Jyrath howled and flinched back, gasping.

Miraak raised his sword to study it and found that his blade was not painted as far down with blood as he would have preferred. He'd obviously not gotten in a vital strike. Looking to his foe, he observed blood coating the plate of bone on the last dragonborn's stomach. Jyrath's face was a feral snarl under his helmet.

Miraak felt the dragon in him respond to the scent of blood, spitting and roaring, but he had perfect control of it. It'd been a long time since he hadn't. He felt his dragon fire building, too, but he waited to unleash it. It needed to be a perfect moment, he knew, or it would be wasted.

"Impressive reflexes," the older dragonborn complimented the younger one. "My strike would have felled any of your fellow Legionnaires. Not you, it seems."

"Damn you!" The boy pressed in again, swinging once more.

Once more, his first strike was deflected. Miraak noted some changes to the style, and he was mildly impressed. It was difficult for one to switch a fighting style in the heat of battle. His enemy obviously had more extensive training than he'd shown mere moments ago. So why had he held it back until now? That was when Miraak recalled that Zin had trained him for a time. Perhaps the boy had been too angry with her, that he did not want to use her fighting style. It seemed rather egotistical to throw away a deadly fighting style in such a fight as this, all because one felt angry at the person who'd taught it to them. However, the last dragonborn seemed to be realizing just how good his opponent was with the sword, too.

Perhaps he had simply underestimated this fight.

Miraak's thoughts were jarred back to reality from a forceful onslaught of violence. He parried a strike aimed at his neck, locking the dragonbone sword in the tentacles of his own. He shoved forward, slamming his shoulder against the other. Jyrath stumbled. Miraak swung his staff around, hitting the half-elf across the face. The last dragonborn should have fallen, except their blades were still locked together, and he regained himself surprisingly fast. When the elder warrior tried to bring his staff back for a magickal attack, ready to risk it in spite of his proximity to the other, the younger fighter caught it upon his shield. Miraak tried to wrench his other hand up, but the last dragonborn hissed and pressed back. Shoulder to shoulder, both fought for control of the weapons.

It was a strange deadlock, Miraak noted. The dragon in him snarled, flames curling in his soul, wanting to break free.

He did not expect the head-butt that the younger fighter performed perfectly. His vision swam slightly on impact, his mask offering a little physical protection against the incredibly hard dragonbone.

Jyrath let out a rough Shout. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Miraak twisted around just as the first syllable started, and by the time it'd ended, he'd maneuvered around the last dragonborn, throwing an arm around his neck. He freed his sword with the same action, tightening his grip. Jyrath tried to pull free, but he was trapped, choking.

"You cannot win," Miraak snarled, aiming his sword for a deadly strike through the other's back. Jyrath slammed his elbow against Miraak's ribs with a powerful strike. There was a shock of pain, and Miraak flinched, the breath leaving his lungs. The last dragonborn twisted out of his grasp, spinning on his heels.

Jyrath started to move, but Miraak was ready. He blocked the next blow with both his staff and sword. He Shouted. Even though the half-elf brought his shield up in time, it still gave him pause. The attack flowed a frosty blizzard over his enemy, and the exhalation of cold made Miraak feel even more aflame. His dragon soul roared in fury, aching to destroy, and for a split second, the first dragonborn thought he might lose his hold on its fire.

In that moment of respite in which Jyrath struggle shrug of the iciness, the former dragon priest summoned the powers of Apocrypha itself. He unleashed his tentacle spell from his staff, staggering his enemy, who fell before it. Jyrath hit the ground, movements restricted by the poisonous limbs.

Miraak moved in for the kill, ready to strike with his sword. He stood above his downed opponent. "Too _easy,_ " he sneered, more dragon than man in that moment.

Jyrath's sword lashed out, slicing through the tendrils. The blades met.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Miraak, not expecting the attack, stumbled. Jyrath leapt up, Shouting, "SU GRAH DUN!"

Miraak's mind balked. He couldn't help but be distracted with the memory of Vahlok using that very Shout against him so long ago. The irony. He wasn't ready for the change, either, and his reflexes weren't enough to prevent a connection between flesh and blade. Within a heartbeat, the sword of dragonbone was imbedded in the ancient dragonborn's torso. Miraak gasped in pain, blood seeping across his robes. The dragon in him flinched in surprise and discomfort, its fury shocked into abrupt silence.

"It's over! Give up!"

Miraak pulled back. "FEIM!" he Shouted, becoming ethereal. Such a wound was not fatal, but it was incredibly painful, and he knew that it would only hinder his fighting capabilities. Restoration was not an option; it would leave him exhausted, which would defeat the purpose of healing himself. He knew he couldn't summon energy to heal his wounds from the Summit either. To do so would weaken the dragonblood barrier that protected him from the Daedra Prince's interference.

No, to stay at the top of his strength, he had to regain it in another way.

He turned. "WULD!" He flew across the Summit, putting distance between his foe and he.

It was then, that he realized that it had truly been some time since he'd been in a fight of this level. Jyrath was indeed a powerful warrior. _Good,_ the dragon in him growled, its rage returning. He needed this fight to sharpen and hone his skills once again for the coming battles that he would face outside of Apocrypha.

"Relonikiv!" he called. The dragon pulled from its current fight with Sahrotaar and raced to his side, landing next to him.

"Yes, Thuri?" he asked.

So loyal, so undeserving of his fate, Miraak thought. But his loyalty would not remain, he knew. No dovah went to his grave a meek servant, unless he were not given the chance to rebel, as Sahrotaar had proven to him.

Miraak steeled himself, pushing away an unwanted sensation that he knew was regret. _We must all make sacrifices,_ he'd told Zin. And so, he would. "ZII LOS DII DO!" he Shouted. He seized the dragon's soul, ripping it away from his ally. He pulled the soul to himself, directing its power to heal his wounds and restore his strength.

He exhaled in relief, standing. He faced his opponent. "You are strong, Jyrath. Stronger than I expected. Good. I embrace the challenge!"

Jyrath gaped, disbelief on his face as Miraak's ethereal form faded. "What?! That's just great!" he snapped. "How do you do that?!"

"That's hardly important when you're about to die," Miraak chuckled. "Prepare yourself, boy." He raised his weapon, charging forward.

Jyrath accepted the blade, flinching at the force of it slamming into his. Miraak fought harder now. He threw his strikes with more power, and he could see they took their toll. With each hit, his scowling enemy winced. He knew that Relonikiv's soul had not only revitalized him, but had also given him extra power. His dragonfire was back, fueling his strikes, and it was nearly to a breaking point.

Miraak paused his assault.

Jyrath tried to get in a jab, but was interrupted.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The half elf managed to block, staggering back.

While the other was recovering, Miraak raised his staff, commanding the dragonfire in his soul that was ready to erupt and explode. He raised his staff, feeling his _dovahsil_ howl. He called all of his dragon power, focusing it. He unleashed the fire in him though his weapon, smashing the tip against the ground. The tongues of flame curled up from that point. Miraak felt the tension drain from his soul and into the inferno before him. The blaze turned into the form of a dragon. The fiery beast shifted under the first dragonborn's command. It dove towards the last dragonborn.

Too close, no escape, Jyrath was seared by his incredible flames. He fell back, gasping, collapsing to the ground.

Miraak blinked in the thick, lingering smoke. It had been some time since he'd used such an attack, and he felt a little relieved to have released the inner dragon's fury. It felt more calm, collected, now. The black smog gradually cleared and he could see Jyrath rising to his feet. His foe's armor seemed to have warded off most of the damage, but it was charred, whatever enchantments it'd held broken. The Dragon Aspect Shout was completely vanished, with no trace of it left. It seemed the younger dragonborn had lost control of it. He noted that the last dragonborn was trembling, and he closed in. He knew the boy couldn't stop this next blow in his current condition. This fight would end now.

Sahrotaar appeared.

The Serpentine slammed into Miraak, sending the first dragonborn sprawling on the ground. He rolled away from the fire that was expelled at him. Making his feet, he ducked forward, under the dragon, too fast for it.

"You will regret betraying me, Sahrotaar!" The former dragon priest roared, switching his feet and snarling. His weapon sliced a deep gash in the Serpentine's chest. Sahrotaar screeched. Miraak continued, "I thought we had an agreement, but you are just like all your kin! You are weak-minded, bowing to anyone that you think will save your sorry excuse for a life!"

"You are not the one who could defeat Alduin, I know this now!" Sahrotaar finally spoke to him, stepping back with quick jerks of his legs and wings. "You allowed Mindahrel to die, like prey! You devoured his soul without hesitation! The Dov mean nothing to you! You tamely bowed to your master for so long, but this dovahkiin has none! I have seen his power, his heart! He is master to Alduin himself!"

"How dare you, coward! After all we have been through, and you would side with a mere _boy_!"

Sahrotaar opened his jaws, striking down with his teeth. Miraak surged aside. He sunk his blade into the dragon's forehead. The Serpentine howled, collapsing to the ground. The first dragonborn yanked his sword back.

Miraak heard a Shout. "FUS RO DAH!" Miraak pulled his gaze from Sahrotaar, who was unmoving on the ground, but still faintly breathing.

Jyrath seemed to have recovered enough to fight and had straightened his stance. Kruziikrel was flying away from him. Miraak assumed the dragon had tried to get a blow in on the distracted enemy, but had been deflected by Unrelenting Force. Miraak looked back to the traitor dragon.

"Sahrotaar," he hissed. " _Zii Los Dii Do_!"

The dragon that had once served Miraak without fault died, his soul racing into Miraak. "And you will serve me again," he murmured with a faint smile. He turned back to the other dragonborn and raised his voice to speak to him. "You could have been mighty, Dragonborn, if fate had decreed otherwise. Zin was correct, you do have potential. The Greybeards have taught you the Thu'um well. Perhaps I misjudged them, too... but still, I know things they will never teach you."

Jyrath seemed to have a little difficulty maintaining his stance. He wavered, but he glared at Miraak all the same. He muttered, "You said 'will'. Why? Are you expecting me to win?" he quipped.

"No. You will lose," Miraak elevated his sword. "Even though you fight valiantly against fate, I am at a clear advantage here." He rushed forward.

"KRI L-"

"FUS,"

The shorter word cut into Jyrath's longer statement, throwing him off balance. Miraak had sacrificed a powerful Shout for a weaker one just to interrupt his. The boy blocked his subsequent attack with his shield. Jyrath turned his blade, thrusting it forward. Miraak felt it catch his flesh, blood painting the dragonbone. His own sword caught the other's shoulder, and he yelled in return.

"Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know," the first dragonborn snarled. "Do you not see that he has coordinated this to go entirely how he wanted it to? Neither of us imagined we'd be here, now, and here we are, for him!"

"That's your fault," Jyrath returned. "You wo-"

" _No_ ," Miraak interrupted with a hiss. "It was yours for meddling in my plans! You should have stayed out of it!"

Jyrath Shouted, "FUS RO DAH!"

Miraak stumbled, but he withstood the force.

"Damn you!" The half elf cursed. "I will kill you!" He pushed forward, shoving his shield before him.

"IIZ SLEN NUS!" the first dragonborn attacked.

Jyrath kept charging, even though his shield had a few inches of ice on it. He slammed it against Miraak, sprawling them both to the ground. Miraak felt the wind rush from his chest with the impact, losing his hold on his staff. His sword arm was pinned. Before he could recover his breath, the other dragonborn Shouted, "TIID KLO UL!"

Miraak never had a chance to react. The dragonborn's blade plunged into his chest.

He inhaled, and it hurt. He coughed, tasting blood. He hissed, "FEIM ZI GRON!" and rolled away from his foe, pushing to his feet.

"Kruziikrel!" he snapped. The dragon landed before him obediently. "ZII LOS DII DO!" he Shouted.

As he stepped away from the Kruziikrel's skeleton, glowing with fresh power, he faced Jyrath. "Do you know why you will fail, Jyrath?"

"I won't fail," insisted his enemy.

"I am more experienced. I have learned how to survive. You are young, and you don't know anything. My follower told me how you even hesitated to come here! Foolish boy, picking a fight you knew you couldn't win!"

"Your follower?" Jyrath echoed.

"The one you spoke to in the tavern. He is one of the Children."

"Children? He was pretty damn old."

Miraak huffed, "it is the name the followers wanted for themselves."

"That's a...pretty damned weird name."

The first said nothing, and the two paced around each other. Jyrath was limping. He was in such a state, that Miraak could sense the dragon soul in his nemesis, burning like a flame in a dark night. He felt himself wanting to take it, to rip it away from the other. He could sense its power, the promise of strength it would bring him. With its owner so exhausted, bleeding, in pain, he knew it was not clinging to the mortal as fiercely as it was before, when the fight had started.

Miraak figured that Jyrath was unaware of how his soul stuck out like a black sheep. He obviously could not sense Miraak's own soul. He hadn't given any indication of such.

 _So young, so inexperienced... How did he ever think he could win?_

"So that old guy was one of your fanatics?" Jyrath winced. "I should have figured. Why else would he know so much about you. I just don't expect old people to be villainous."

"Villainous is a rather strong word from a man who was willing to serve a Daedra to win."

"Like you?"

"Your use of the word makes you sound hypocritical." Miraak halted his pacing, and started towards his foe.

"What about yourself?"

Miraak growled.

Jyrath tensed himself, opening his mouth.

Miraak knew he was about to Shout. He raised a ward, and the attack slammed against his barrier harmlessly. Jyrath pushed behind it, his voice cracking as he threw himself at his foe. Miraak's sword guarded him. Alone, surrounded by the skeletons of the three fallen beasts, the two fought viciously, strikes ringing through the air. They traded blows and Shouts, snarling and howling like dragons. The first put more pressure on the last, increasing his attack speed through his fresh strength. Somehow, the other managed to keep up enough to prevent deadly injury to himself.

Miraak locked his blade on Jyrath's again, twisting. The other tripped.

A spear of ice appeared in Miraak's free hand, and he thrusted it deep into the last dragonborn. Wet blood spilled over his hand, and shock displayed on the half-elf's features. The ice glittered under the red, and Miraak shoved him back. Jyrath stumbled, tripped, and went down hard. Miraak waited to see if his foe was done or not.t

To his incredulity, the determined boy rolled over, slowly pushing himself to his hands and knees. He wobbled like a drunk, but made his feet all the same.

"You should give up," the first dragonborn advised, "and I will give you a quick death, if you do. There is no hope for you winning this now."

Gasping, the elven man exhaled roughly, " _Never_."

Miraak watched as he dropped his shield. He raised his now-free left hand to the fresh wound in his chest, and glowing magicka resonated there. It appeared to be rather weak, though, and after just a moment or two, it faded. Jyrath doubled over, coughing violently. When he straightened himself, his eyes were dull with exhaustion and agony, and his wounds were still bleeding. Blood was running from the corner of his mouth, dripping slowly down his chin. He crouched enough to grab his shield, readjusting his grip on.

Their gazes met, and the first dragonborn easily read the other's weakness. "You understand now, that you will die," Miraak acknowledged for him.

"Like Oblivion I will!" snarled last dragonborn. "Not after everything I've done... Not after...pulling through, countless times..." He narrowed his eyes, and then raised his shield. He drew that arm back.

Miraak felt confusion at the action. What di-

Jyrath flung his shield as a projectile.

It crashed into the first dragonborn's chest, and he flinched. Jyrath followed up, screaming outrage at the top of his lungs. He whipped his bloodstained blade down. Miraak blocked it, still winded from the shield attack. He could not Shout, but he did not need to. He twisted his weapon, intent on shoving it into the neck of the other. Jyrath shifted his head at the last instant, the blade merely grazing him. When the sword came back, Miraak locked his own blade with it. He wrenched it from the other's grasp, tossing it aside.

Disarmed, desperation flickered in Jyrath's amber eyes. The half-Altmer took the next split second to bring his knee up hard.

In spite of everything, the first dragonborn's eyes watered and agony exploded through him. He cried out, stumbling back. He had hardly expected such a lowly and dishonorable strike. It was incredibly hard to move, at the ridiculous amount of pain it caused him.

"That's why I wear armor!" The half-elf hissed nastily, rushing forward.

"That was beneath you, Dragonborn, even for _your_ standards," Miraak growled.

"Yeah, it _was_! But I'm _not_ going to die here today!"

A fist slammed against Miraak's face, and he felt his mask go flying. His face bared, the sudden drain in power caught him off guard. He didn't get a chance to recover before a gauntleted hand seized his throat. Miraak was amazed at the strength remaining in the grasp, but at this point, it was a futile attempt at victory.

Their eyes met, and Miraak saw some surprise there.

"You-" started Jyrath, faltering, distracted.

He would never know what the boy was about to say.

Miraak, on instinct, slashed his arm with all his strength, rending the dragonbone, flesh, and muscle with ease.

* * *

Blood gushed from the laceration.

Jyrath faltered and cried out. His hand went limp, and he released Miraak against his will. He saw the deep gash stretching across his inner elbow down to his wrist, deep enough to show the nauseatingly white bone underneath. He gritted his teeth, staggering backward. He couldn't move the injured part of his body, or feel that hand. He gripped the wounded limb with his other hand, but it was shaking violently. His heart pounded, and he looked to Miraak.

The First Dragonborn approached, holding his weapon before him. He stared down his nose at him.

Jyrath didn't give his earlier distraction a moment's more thought. It had already cost him dearly. He struggled to remember his training in magicka instead, restoration specifically. Concentrating, he tried to restore his arm, mend the flesh. The golden light flickered in his hands, but sputtered out, useless, gone. He hissed, glaring at Miraak.

"And so you are helpless, now," Miraak noted, approaching the half-elf.

Jyrath felt himself sink to his knees, his pulse racing faster now. His power to rise again was fading, and behind it was nothing but defiance and fear. "You bastard," he growled. He coughed, tasting blood. He desperately tried to summon his dragon rage, but it was gone.

He had no strength to even move, he realized.

Miraak held out his blade, the tip to the half-elf's neck. "This should not have become the battle it did, dragonborn, but for those who use his knowledge, Hermaeus Mora must always have his way... If it comforts you, know that your soul will be used for glorious deeds."

"Somehow," Jyrath growled weakly. "I'm not comforted."

"Fate decreed that you had to die for me to live. This is the only way, Dragonborn. The only way I can be free." The first dragonborn hesitated, and Jyrath wondered why. Perhaps he did regret what this had come to.

 _The audacity of this bastard,_ he thought. He didn't want to die, and especially not like this. He wanted to live. He wanted to be able to grow old, to retire.

He didn't want this battle to end it all - all of his plans for his future.

But there was nothing he could do now.

The half-elf saw the blade pull back, and he knew what was going to happen. He resisted the temptation to squeeze his eyes shut. It seemed a cowardly thing to do.

The first dragonborn murmured, "I am sorry," and Jyrath figured those were the last words he would ever hear.

His eyes caught movement, and his attention was drawn from his impending death. With some surprise, he spotted a thick, dark tentacle rising from the pool of green in the center of the battleground, almost lazily. It glistened dully in the green light. He watched, uncomprehending the significance of its appearance. The air pressure increased around them. Jyrath felt his eyes widen involuntarily. Miraak's own two eyes widened as well. There was a split second of realization there. Jyrath was certain that the ancient warrior knew exactly what he knew. The elder dragonborn shifted as though to turn, but he never completed the action.

Dark blood spattered across the Jyrath's face. He registered slowly the boneless limb speared through the first dragonborn's chest.

How had it moved so fast? Covered so much ground in so little time?

There was such shock and horror and pain in his enemy's eyes, that the half-elf forgot that his own life had just been spared. Miraak's arms dropped, his sword falling as if in slow motion to clang on the metal floor. And he unleashed an unholy scream - a sound of anger, loss, and agony. The first dragonborn was yanked back, away from the last.

Hermaeus Mora's voice thundered all around them, as if the sky were about to split open from his fury, "DID YOU THINK TO ESCAPE ME, MIRAAK? YOU CAN HIDE _NOTHING_ FROM ME HERE!"

* * *

.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter._**

 ** _Dovahzul Translations -_**

 _Dovahsil - Dragonsoul_

 ** _A/N -_**

 _So, how well did I portray the climatic fight scene of the Dragonborn story-arc? Was it good? Bad? Ugly? ;) And before anyone freaks out about what just happened, wait to consider abandoning this story until we end Part Two! Part Two's ending is possibly very different than what you may be thinking right now. Possibly. I actually don't know what you're thinking. If I did, I could make a living from being a mind-reader...or something..._

 _Two chapters to go for this part!_

 _Well, I hope to hear from you! Until the next twenty-four hours has passed, my readers!_


	49. Final Moment

_**A/N** \- I'm really reluctant to stick an author's note on this chapter, at all. But I feel obligated too, and better here than at the end... I just want to say, that a part at the end of this chapter here was heavily influenced by the fanfiction author, Aurora Nova, and something from her story, _ Into the Maelstrom _. :) I want to thank her for that bit of inspiration!_

 _And today is this story's one year birthday(or was it technically yesterday? Ugh, time zones)! Happy b-day,_ That World Will Cease to Be! _:D Yes, I'm strange._

 _Okay, that's all I needed to say._

* * *

~D~

XLIX. Final Moment.

(Laat Getiid)

Miraak saw it in the last dragonborn's eyes.

Hermaeus Mora.

Only, he never had a chance to react.

There was a horrible sensation - a hundred tons of pressure slamming between his shoulder blades. Searing agony raced through his entire being, and he was yanked back from the last dragonborn, horrifying thoughts crushing his own in a heartbeat. Terrible pain like he'd never experienced before filled him. Nothing could compare to the wrath of an angry Daedra Lord.

"DID YOU THINK TO ESCAPE ME, MIRAAK?!" Screamed Hermaeus Mora in that horrible, angry voice. "YOU CAN HIDE _NOTHING_ FROM ME HERE!"

He was lifted into the air, his body unresponsive. Hermaeus Mora snarled in vengeance, but when he spoke, his voice was calm, "...No matter... I have a _new_ dragonborn to serve me, now."

Miraak knew it shouldn't have, but those words lanced anger through his heart. The fury he experienced was enough for his thoughts to break through the pain and allow him to find his voice. He formed the words, spoke them, choked on them. "May he...be _rewarded_...as I am!" He struggled to find his willpower, to remember his thoughts. He coughed. He tasted blood in his mouth, felt it pooling in his throat.

It was all the first dragonborn could do to breath. He closed his eyes, a suffocating presence crushing him; he knew there was no escape. Confusion flooded his mind, and his thoughts grew foggy. He forgot, for a moment, who he was. His old enemy's terrible hatred swamped him like a dozen arrows piercing his heart, consuming him. He seized, a gurgling cry torn from his collapsed lungs. His injuries burned. His limbs lost their feeling. He struggled against the numbness, but he could not resist the relentless pressure upon his person that drowned his mind in blackness.

 _He broke through...my barrier...so easily..._ _I was a fool to think it could keep him out..._

 _I...was so close..._

 _Of course, he would never give me another chance. He chose for this to be my end...probably long ago..._

If only he could move, or Shout, or summon his magicka.

Anything.

Anything would be better than being incapable of freeing himself from Hermaeus Mora.

He opened his mouth to speak more words, but nothing came to him. His voice was too weak. A series of jumbled noises and images made up his remaining thoughts. He was certain he was being pulled apart. He couldn't fathom it. He was far from himself in every way. He opened his eyes, but the light was fading. The taste of blood in his mouth was fading. The anger of the Daedra was fading. His once-loud heartbeat was faltering, fading too.

 _No..._

 _..._ It _is not all fading away._

 _It is_ I _who is...fading away..._

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to watch his vision go. The cold spread through his body like poison.

He could feel the Daedra's will extinguishing his own, an inevitable battering ram pounding down the fortitude he'd developed during his long imprisonment, ripping away the small strength he had left little by little. He would not last for long. He sensed that when he broke, he would be reduced to nothing.

Thoughts fluttered through him like an injured bird. Unbidden, the last thing he wanted to think of in that moment rushed into his mind; it sapped his strength, replacing it with regret. His very life flickered behind his eyelids. He saw his family. His past. He saw his mother, his sister, his father.

And he saw exactly what he became after they were gone.

Time slowed. Miraak's thoughts grew sharp, a clarity clearing the fog.

 _Tovitaa went to her grave believing I was an evil man... It hurts more than I knew... And t_ _hat despicable ring started all of this. Mother. She taught me that I only needed to reach for my destiny. She gave me that ring, indirectly, through Vahlok. Vahlok, the guardian... Father..._ _T_ _he last time I saw any of them, I never said farewell. It was not my way. But I have done so much. I turned the tide on the dragons' tyranny. I brought them to their deaths. I fought against impossible odds, immortal enemies… I should have failed then, but I didn't._

 _All so I could fail now._

 _I've always fought in losing battles. It was only a matter of time before I fell..._

 _I realize how long it's taken, but now…_

 _I cannot even make it home. Never will I walk the lands of Tamriel again. Never again will I feel that fresh, biting wind. Never again will I think... Never again will I have anything._

 _Zin...I am so sorry for everything I've put you through... I shouldn't have dragged you into my battles...And especially not this one, when it could only fail..._

 _Please...forgive me when I'm gone..._

 _This is it..._

 _Death..._

 _But it is not so frightening..._

 _I can't remember why I was so afraid..._

He perceived that Hermaeus Mora saw all of these thoughts, and the Daedra responded. He poured darkness into them, turning them to try and break him, destroy him. The dragonborn fought against the sinister thoughts swamping his mind, corrupting his peace, coaxing him to suffer, to hurt.

 _Death will render you to nothingness... You think you will make it to Sovngarde? You truly believe you will see your family again?_ There was a demented laugh that reverberated in his consciousness. _No...Miraak... Sovngarde is not for dragons...and not for those who have fallen so low..._ _You are alone in your death, and you will fade away... Accept it..._ _You have no reason to keep fighting._

 _Get...out...of...my...head..._

 _Gone...almost gone..._

 _It's so hard...to think...anything..._

 _Yes, die in agony, mortal..._

Miraak dragged in his last breath.

That final moment stretched into infinity. His thoughts became faster than the speed of light, and he suddenly had all the time in Oblivion he could want. Not only that, his mind was so very clear. There was no pain, no numbness, no cold. There was no Daedra, either. He knew, instinctively, that the Lord of Apocrypha did not know this was even happening. There was warmth instead, relaxing and comforting.

How was this possible?

A line from a book he'd read ran across his mind in perfect lettering. Never had he seen his thoughts so vividly, but the black ink stood starkly against white light.

 _There are no words sometimes for the...real things. Things that are outside of books. Things that are outside the realm of 'knowing'. Things of the soul...of the heart. You cannot learn these with your mind. You cannot read them on a page. You cannot grasp them in your hands. You cannot store them a library._

 _You feel them in your heart._

The letters and words burst apart.

The pale dragon appeared before him, pure white smoke drifting from its maw. The eyes it held were golden, and they burned brightly like miniature suns. In fact, it was as if the sun itself had entered Miraak's mind, the sensation of being in the creature's presence completely overwhelming. He felt its powerful gaze, which seemed to shred him apart and learn everything about him. Mist drifted around the beast, and he could see pure, holy fire blazing under its skin. It wasn't white, he realized. It was just so luminous, that it could be no other color.

It was beautiful.

If he'd had eyes here in his consciousness, he would have squinted.

He was no longer numb or in pain, but at ease.

 _I know you..._

Its nostrils flared. It's voice resonated. _Though you have chosen to forget, as most of my creation has..._ _Yes. How you have abused your gifts, child... Yet you have such audacity to ask for another chance..._

 _You are...disappointed..._ Miraak knew. _I am sorry..._

Its handsome, horned head raised, and all of its glittering diamond scales rippled - surprise.

 _Forgive me..._ Miraak thought to it. What was it Vahlok had always said to him? _Brash...stupid...arrogant... Yes, that is I._ _I realize that I have been so, so very foolish. Yes, I have the audacity to ask...but I want to try again._

The dragon's eyes burned into him, almost unbearable. Then, they dulled slightly, to reveal the color of purest gold underneath. _Why do you ask forgiveness from_ me _? It is not I who has not forgiven... It is_ you _who must forgive..._ _Prove it to yourself that you will abandon the Daedra...and you will be free..._

And Miraak felt it... An odd emotion that he had not known he'd lacked.

 _Forgiveness..._

The dragon roared. Miraak felt his very thoughts shudder. Not in fear, though, but in awe. _So be it, Allegiance Guide. It seems I will not guide your spirit this day..._ _You have found your heart... Do not waste it, child..._

The dragon vanished, taking the beautiful and relaxing sunlight with it.

Miraak's mind snapped back to Apocrypha, and his thoughts were perfectly clear. He could no longer feel the Daedra in his mind, it was as if the creature had been blocked out. And he could breath, could Shout, even though he should not have been able to.

He exhaled.

Perhaps what came out of his mouth was more of a Whisper than a Shout, though.

It mattered not. It's power was all the same.

 _"Dii Slen Tiid Vo..."_

He died.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter.**_


	50. Rebirth

_**A/N** \- How did this chapter get so long...? It wasn't supposed to be. *sigh* Hope that doesn't mean it's draggy. There's just quite a few loose ends to wrap up for this part...surprisingly. _

_Ugh, and this website keeps devouring my formatting. I don't know why. Hope nothing is wrong in this chapter as far as that's concerned._

 _Enjoy the final chapter for **Part 2**!_

* * *

~D~

L. Rebirth

(Orkiindah)

 _"_ _Dii Slen Tiid Vo."_

The words had been faint, maybe even imagined.

Jyrath had not torn his gaze from the dying form of his enemy. The agonizing slowness of the other's end had turned his limbs cold, but at the same time, the evident suffering there had boiled his blood with righteous fury. Nobody deserved such a fate, he'd thought. He had watched the spasms of pain in the first dragonborn, growing weaker by the second, sickened.

"Just be done with it, you monster!" He had shouted angrily at the Daedra.

And the Daedra had ignored him, as if he weren't even there.

This fight should have ended quick and clean, not slow and terrible, but despite the way it had been finished, Jyrath was very thankful that he still drew breath, even as his entire body ached fiercely. Blood still leaked from his arm, but he was reasonably certain he wouldn't die from it.

After that horrible length of time passed in which his foe had died, Jyrath took a bit of solace in the fact that the first dragonborn's suffering was finished. Or so it seemed, his body limp, unmoving. But even then, that last phrase still hung in the half-Altmer's mind, and it was a strangely familiar set of words, though he did not know why. They bothered him. Miraak's last words had not been those of defiance from a man in a inescapable position. No, it sounded more like a promise - an ancient vow in the dragon language, but he did not know what. This situation didn't feel as it should, he mused... Nothing about it seemed right.

Miraak's flesh began to burn away, shining bright in the darkness of Apocrypha. The elven man did not expect how weak the soul flowing into him felt. The faint impressions it left weren't even enough to rival the most feeble dragons he'd slain. It was _strange_. Was it because this man was dragonborn? How could that be? He'd expected that a dragonborn's soul - especially one so ancient - would feel much more powerful than any others he'd taken, but the exact opposite was true. No matter how he tried to figure it, he couldn't.

Hermaeus Mora flung the bones upon the ground as if he were tossing away a piece of trash.

Jyrath, still holding his wounded arm, muttered to the skeletal remains, "Rest in sovngarde, Dovahkiin…" Then, he frowned. "At least, I hope that's where our dragon souls go when we die. Maybe not me though... I'm a half-breed."

After a few heartbeats had passed, Hermaeus said, "your reward, his power." His great many eyes shifted to look around, as if trying to locate something in the sky. He did not seem focused on the remaining dragonborn.

The half-elf narrowed his own eyes, confusion building further. Just what was going on?

That had not been Miraak's power, had it?

Impossible.

Finally, Mora's gaze fixed on Jyrath, who stared back, feeling strange.

He said, exhaustion in his words, "I've seen how the Daedra _reward_ their faithful. I'm not interested."

"Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewar-"

"No," Jyrath snarled. He clenched his uninjured hand, feeling disgusted. "How often do I need to say it? _No._ I will not deal with you. That's it. I'm done. You Daedra manipulate your deals to seem in the mortal's favor, but really, it's just a cunning trap to force them into your service. The moment they are less than perfect, you rip their lives away. I've seen this before. It won't be the last time, either, I can almost stake my life on it."

"You...should _not_...compare me...to others," the Daedra whispered.

"It is truth, though, is it not?" Jyrath responded, bitterness in his tone. "You killed Septimus... You killed Miraak... You aren't going to kill _me_ the same way... I won't make Miraak's mistakes. I leave Apocrypha, and I'm never returning to this sick place." He paced for the book that had appeared in the center of the Summit. "There are much better things to read beyond here, by the way."

"So you claim," Mora whispered, the image of him fading... His voice continued to echo after he was gone. _"However, power calls to you, Jyrath, in how your own homeland faces such danger... You will come back. I know you will come back. Mortals are far too predictable."_

 _I will not…_ Jyrath thought. He focused on the book, more than ready to return to Tamriel.

* * *

The last dragonborn crunched through the cold snow, barely maintaining his balance. He stumbled forward, eyes unfocused. His arm seared like it had been ripped in two, and the way his other injuries felt... He wondered if there was a dagger lodged in his gut. It certainly felt like it.

Zin appeared in front of him, staring into his eyes with some disbelief.

Jyrath blinked, registering her presence, and tensed. Where had she come from? "If you're here to kill me...then..." He winced against the ache of his injuries. His arm gave an unhelpful throb, and sticky blood trickled across his skin. He wasn't even sure if he could draw his sword. "...then... There's nothing I can do to stop you." His legs collapsed and he hit the ground. "Ouch," he muttered. "That didn't feel so great." He lay still, staring at the sky. In a way, the cold snow was comforting in the face of his pain.

Zin knelt at his side. "How is it you return? Miraak...is... He is _dead_?" she whispered hoarsely as if she hadn't heard a word from the half-elf. The disbelief and denial in her tone forced him to meet her gaze.

Her expression gave him a hopeless sensation. He finally said after some uncertainty."...Yes... He was...pretty tough."

To his surprise, she dropped her head and began to weep openly into her palms, rocking in grief. There was nothing but the terrible sounds of misery she made without restraint, often speaking fast-paced words between sobs that made no sense. After several incredibly long moments, she gained some control over her outburst. She looked up, and he watched dubiously as she began to heal his wounds with tear-stained hands. Despite her obvious despiar, however, she worked on in silence that was only broken by the occasional sniffle or sob.

Jyrath experienced a mixture of uncertainty and awkwardness. Zin, as far as he knew, never cried, never wept, and never showed any such emotions so openly... To see her with such red eyes...with such a broken heart... This wasn't good. He had no idea how to even begin helping her.

"Miraak actually won the fight," he told her after the worst of his injuries had been mended. He was not sure why he was saying it, perhaps hoping to give some comfort. She met his gaze, eyes leaking slightly. He took a deep breath and continued, "he was about to deliver the final blow...but Hermaeus Mora landed one first..."

She stood, eyes snapping to the sky. The wind picked up, blowing her hair and whipping ashy snow around her. She inhaled. "The cursed Daedra!" she screamed at the sky, looking wild, "black-hearted _fiends_ and _demons_! If it weren't for them, I would..." she trailed off, her voice growing colder than it ever had before, "I will...I will..." Here, she faltered, exploding into sobs again.

She raised both her hands and looked at them. Her voice dropped, sounding dead. " _There is nothing I can do_..." she lowered her eyes, and they were blank.

Through great effort, Jyrath pushed himself into a sitting position. "Zin..." he murmured.

She was shivering, such heartbreak on her face that he almost regretted ever stepping foot on Solstheim. Almost. Miraak had needed to be dealt with, he told himself. It wasn't his fault that she'd had an attachment to the man...the man who'd wanted to take over the world. It had been the right thing to do...

 _Like sparing Alduin?_ his consciousness jibed.

He mentally scowled at it. _Shut up about that, already._

He stared helplessly at the stricken woman. _Why can't things be less difficult?_

The ice mage turned heel and began to march away.

"Zin, where are you going?" he called.

She didn't answer.

* * *

The Skaal village was peaceful, idyllic. He had never quite enjoyed returning here so much. It was good to see this place without the sense of impending danger that had hovered over it before. He felt no dragon rage now, only a deep weariness that he wasn't sure would ever leave him.

Storn and Frea stood side-by-side outside their house when he found them. "I can feel it," Storn acknowledged upon spotting him. "The Tree Stone is free again. The Oneness of the land is restored. You defeated Miraak," he said. A statement of fact, not a question.

"I..." the half-Altmer inhaled, then decided against explaining how that last statement was slightly incorrect. "It's over..." he simplified. "Miraak is dead." It felt strange to say those words. "And I thank you both. I couldn't have ended it without your people's help."

Storn inclined his head. "Of course. It was our duty. We would not allow corruption to swallow our homes." He turned toward the Shaman's hut, and walked away.

Frea nodded. "Thank you, Jyrath. One more thing, Skaal-friend, if you will. I know it is not my place, but...may I offer a word of advice... of warning?"

"What is it?"

"As daughter to the Shaman of the Skaal, I will one day be charged with the spiritual well-being of my people. While you are not of the Skaal, you are Skaal-friend, and so I give you this warning. Herma-Mora almost forced you to serve him in order to defeat Miraak. Do not let him tempt you again. The All-Maker made you Dragonborn for a higher purpose. Do not forget that."

"Don't worry, Frea," he smiled, but his heart was not in it, "I've had enough of the Daedra, that's for sure."

"That is good to hear."

"Farewell, Frea, I believe I will return to Skyrim, now. And then travel, I think. I really think I need a long vacation."

"Farewell, and walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend…" She started to turn away to follow after her father, when she stopped and looked back. "Actually, in light of everything that has happened, I nearly forgot. It just seemed so unimportant before..." she trailed off, uncertain.

"Go on," Jyrath prompted, stifling the sense that he was going to regret telling her to.

"Well, there is an elderly Nord named Tharstan in the Greathall who would like to speak with you before you leave Solstheim, if you do not mind. I believe he was seeking an escort to travel further into the island."

"Really now? Why am I not surprised?" Jyrath almost groaned. At that moment, he wanted to run away from the village until he reached Raven Rock and from there go straight to Skyrim aboard the first available ship. But if there was an elderly man needing help, then there was an elderly man needing help, and there was no way Jyrath was about to let the guy struggle around this ash-covered rock by himself to get torn apart by Reiklings and Ash Spawn. He sighed.

 _As long as he's not secretly a Miraak cultist looking for revenge, anyway..._

The last dragonborn turned and walked towards the Greathall.

He found the old man where Frea had said, sitting on a bench, sipping from a mug.

He looked up. "Ah, welcome young man... It's good Frea remembered to tell you... I did not know if she would or not...but the girl's got a good memory. I am Tharstan, by the way. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Jyrath responded.

"I heard from Deor how you went in search of Baldor. That was very brave, and in fact, that's just the kind of courage I'm looking for."

Jyrath had to search his mind a bit to even recollect what the guy was talking about, and then remembered how he'd found the smith in the hands of Thalmor, another long story. He shuddered a little at the thought. The experience had completely passed from his mind with the business of Miraak occurring.

"I helped a man in need, that's all," Jyrath said. "Let me guess, you need me to do something dangerous?" he sighed, leaning against the wall.

"Quite right! Quite right! This, however, is paying work. I have a job offer for you. Allow me to explain."

In spite of himself, the last dragonborn almost wanted to be hired for some simple mercenary work. At least it would bring him a semblance of normality after all the uproar lately... "Fine, consider me hired."

"Excellent! Modest as well as brave _and_ willing to help. Most admirable! I can see why the Skaal think highly of you. Yes, I think you're just the adventurous sort I need. As a scholar of history, I've always found Solstheim to be most intriguing. I've made many forays into the ancient ruins that cover the island. I've come to know those ruins so well, I could draw you a map from memory. That's why I noticed the new passage the moment I laid eyes on it."

"A new passage to what?"

"An old tomb, I think. It must have been opened by an earthquake that accompanied one of the Red Mountain's eruptions. I'd love to have a closer look, but those old ruins can be dangerous and I'm no adventurer. I will pay you to watch my back down there, and we'll see what we can find. Now I'm off to pack for the expedition!"

* * *

The figure knelt before what appeared to be a large Word Wall. It wore dark robes, a hood lowered to hide its head. The ground around it was littered with the bones of the draugr. It was still, a statue, but Jyrath was cautious, uncertain just what it was. Was it some kind of draugr or dragon priest? He seized the hilt of his blade. It rang upon the scabbard, and he held it forward. The hooded figure responded to the noise and stood slowly, still facing away from them.

"This is what I hired you for!" Tharstan exclaimed fretfully, moving back to a safer position behind his bodyguard.

"Yes, yes, I know," Jyrath responded. Really, did this guy have to jump at every shadow? Granted, the shadows here _were_ often dangerous. He held his blade aloft and moved forward, alert.

Words were uttered from the hooded form, "your caution is unnecessary, Dragonborn. The enemy is already dead." His hand indicated the dragon priest's ancient corpse, lying motionless among the bones Already defeated, it seemed.

"That voice," Jyrath whispered. It was indeed very familiar.

The man turned, his hood shadowing his face. There was a faint glint of gold there, however. He folded his arms, partial-darkness hiding most of him from the two explorers. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "This is the tomb of Vahlok the Guardian. What can you possibly desire of such a place?"

"You are... _Miraak_ ," Jyrath said. "H-how? I...I saw you die."

"Indeed. It is what you thought you saw," Miraak responded, his voice strangely soft. "You did not answer my question."

"Didn't you kill him?" Tharstan interjected, untactful.

"He did not," Miraak said. "Hermaeus Mora did."

"But... Then...?"

"How am I alive? Answer my question first, Dragonborn. Why are you in this tomb?"

"Fine. I was hired to help this guy." Jyrath responded, indicating Tharstan. "Complete coincidence."

"There are no coincidences," Miraak returned. "But I do believe that you had no intentions of finding me, for you thought I was dead."

"You cannot possibly be Miraak," Tharstan insisted. "Could you?"

"I remember a time when peasants like you would have called me 'lord'," the first dragonborn sighed in dramatic amusement. "How the world has regressed in my absence."

Was that sarcasm?

Tharstan stared, eyes wide.

"Answer a question of mine now," Jyrath insisted, approaching the elder dragonborn. He still had his weapon raised. "Hermaeus Mora killed you. How are you here? Why are you here?"

"I came seeking answers, as usual. Answers that I now realize that even Apocrypha could not give me..." he added absently. Miraak looked to the wall of ancient words. He cleared his throat. "I came for answers about Vahlok. I saw..." he trailed off before saying, "in my death, I gained the wisdom and the strength to finally find freedom from that Daedra... But I never had the answers of those that I..." He trailed off, folding his arms. "Closer to the end, by the time I cared enough, my former master preferred that I suffer in silence than learn even the smallest and most insignificant answers…"

Jyrath realized his question hadn't really been answered. "You still haven't explained… I thought I heard you say something when you were dying."

" _Dii Slen Tiid Vo_ , is what you heard."

"What is that?"

"Like _Ziil Los Dii Du_ , that you saw me use on the dragons, it is a four-word Shout...or a _Phrase,_ if you will. A _Sahgaatmulaag_ ," Miraak explained. "Four-word Shouts are...not like those with three words. _Sahgaatmulaag_ follow entirely different rules. They are capable of mighty power, if you can truly focus your intentions and vital essence. They very greatly, depending on who speaks them... I had mastered such level of power, and so it was...more of a...an _instinct_ , I suppose, in my fading moments of life, that I used such."

"So you...Shouted yourself back to life?"

"No. I reversed my death entirely. When my form was destroyed in Apocrypha, my Shout brought it back in Tamriel, reversing my imprisonment, as intended, to be reborn without Apocrypha's chains. My mortal death you witnessed ended the deal I made with that Daedra so long ago, and he has no hold over me now."

"I thought I absorbed your soul," the last dragonborn pointed out. "Though it was odd - incredibly weak. Actually, it wasn't your soul, was it?"

"No, it was not. I already demonstrated to you that my will to control dragon souls is greater than your own… Had I truly died permanently, you would not have had the power to steal my soul… No. I simply let you take the knowledge of some of those souls I'd collected, in the hopes I could deceive Hermaeus Mora into believing for a time that I had indeed perished, as he intended..."

Jyrath hesitated, but said, "I get it…" He remembered when the Graybeards or even Paarthurnax had shared their knowledge with him. It felt much like he was absorbing a soul, but not as powerful.

"Good. You are more intelligent than I originally presumed, it seems."

He felt a flash of irritation at Miraak, and he remembered just why they'd even fought in the first place. "Alright, Oh-Smart-One, what do you intend now? If you're planning to control people's minds and take over the world, I'll have to stop you."

Tharstan took a few steps back, uncertainty crossing his features. Jyrath clenched his hold upon his blade, never looking away. There was a moment of silence, and then-

"Or perhaps you are just as foolish as I believed," the first dragonborn sighed. "It is fortunate for you that I do not intend such. You lost the battle in Apocrypha, to remind you should your memory be so poor."

Jyrath snapped, "and you had four lives that time!" Then, he blinked, surprised by what Miraak had said. "Wait...did you just basically say that...you aren't planning to...you know? Do evil stuff?"

"It is enough that I am free…" Miraak replied.

"Why don't I believe you?" Jyrath asked.

"Because you are as ignorant as ever." Miraak shifted enough, that Jyrath saw a hint of gold again. A mask, no doubt. It was gone in an instant. "Are you going to challenge me, again, now? Are you so foolish?"

Jyrath slowly lowered his weapon. "Only if you try something stupid."

"Then we need not fight...on this day."

"On this day," Jyrath echoed, sheathing his blade.

Miraak turned back to the world wall. "Do you know what this is?"

"It is a Rotmulaag." Jyrath said, not moving an inch. "Another set of Words for the Thu'um."

"It is more than that. It is an ancient memory to this pitiful corpse here." Miraak gestured to the ancient body of Vahlok, the dragon priest. "Or rather, a stone of memory to a man long since dead. You do not know how to read it though, do you? The dragon language was lost after the fall of the Dragon Order. Mostly, the words are a heap of nonsense, but not unexpected nonsense."

Tharstan was beside Jyrath now, curiosity painted across his old face. His former fear was seemingly gone, and his eyes were fixed to the Word Wall. "Aha!" He couldn't contain himself, and he strode right up to the wall as if he owned it. He seemed almost oblivious to Miraak now. "I wonder what it says." Then, he remembered just who was there. He glanced nervously at the first dragonborn. "Um, if you'll just allow me to study these runes for a moment, Mister...um, Miraak..."

"Be my guest," the first dragonborn stated, though his tone revealed mild surprise.

The old Nord returned to the object of interest thoughtfully. "Hmm, here's another mention of... _guardian,_ Jyrath. It says that he was loyal, and his reward was an honorable death. Quite fascinating. How amazing! In all my years as a historian, I never thought I'd see anything like that. Or...you, Miraak. for that matter. I suppose that priest Vahlok must have had this entire place built for him so that he could maintain his vigil, even beyond death."

Miraak tilted his head to look at the man. His mask was now very visible, haunting in the half-light. "Though the history here is muddled and filled with exaggeration, your grasp of it is surprising, given the amount of time that has passed, and the amount of biased that paints it. It is impressive you can read anything in the dragon language, at all."

The historian huffed. "I wouldn't be a proper scholar if I couldn't, now would I? But... If what you say is true, then _you_ were there. You were defeated by him, so what is the truth?"

Miraak hesitated, silently measuring the old scholar. He finally spoke. "I suppose you deserve some credit, historian. Not many bother to seek such unnecessary truths concerning the past..." He exhaled. "Very well. Know this. Vahlok was a master negotiator, a diplomat. He created many ties and lasting friendships because of this. That is why the wall speaks so fondly of his memory. I was not remembered as well. That is what happens when the last man standing is your enemy. I battled Vahlok, true, but he threw his allies at me first to weaken me. He was smart enough to not face me at my full power... Then, he defeated me in battle. I awaited execution, but the Dragon Order fell when Alduin vanished. My allies...and Hermaeus Mora helped me escape...and then I was trapped in an entirely different prison." He gave a dry laugh.

He continued, "And if you're looking to write a book, you can add that I escaped that one, too." With that, Miraak turned and walked passed Jyrath, making his way for the exit.

Jyrath approached the Word Wall to learn this new Thu'um. He heard the footsteps of Miraak receding.

"Miraak," he called. Something bothered him immensely.

The first dragonborn halted. "What?"

Jyrath did not face him when he spoke, but he could sense the other's eyes on him. "It's just... Zin...I think she would probably like to know you live. I don't think she's taking this well..."

He heard a sigh, one that was full of regret. "I already sought her out first, naturally, but she was not at the temple. However, there is one more location that I must check as soon as possible."

He left.

Jyrath felt distracted after that. He did not even pay attention as Tharstan bubbled with excitement, "this is unimaginably incredible! This find! This discovery! A primary source! Who could have guessed that Miraak himself would be here, too, eh? And his story of his capture. Incredible! Nobody knew for certain until now! And how did he get past that door without the Amethyst Claw? Ah Divines, I've lost my chance to ask him. And do you think he's no longer a true threat to Solstheim? And...and... young man, are you even listening to me?"

Jyrath stared at the doorway. _Even though it is highly unlikely Miraak will keep his word, I do not wish to fight him again._

His arm silently agreed with him.

Four-word Shouts? He shook his head.

* * *

Zin stood before the sarcophagus that had once contained Zoortah's body.

 _I never did locate his remains..._ she thought.

It was here, in the ruined crypts where her own body had once rested in silence, that she found herself, uncertain and alone. She stared at the empty coffin, her eyes blank and unseeing. How had she lost it all, so suddenly? she wondered. She raised the mask in her hands and put it on her face. She'd found it here in this tomb, where it'd been forgotten in the aftermath of her resurrection. Perhaps she would wear it again.

Her resurrection. All because Miraak had trusted her. And it had amounted to nothing. Once again, she would be required to carry on without Miraak, but this time, she had no family left. She supposed she could mend the rift between her and Jyrath, and perhaps she could at least have a son again. But it would not be the same. It could never be the same.

The last time she'd been left to try and fulfill her and Miraak's goals without him, she'd had hope to fuel her, that the first dragonborn would one day appear to her again. Even up until she'd become too old to even stand straight, she'd had the faintest belief in her heart that he would return.

This time, such belief was gone.

At least she finally had no tears left to give, she thought. She sat upon the chilly floor, numb.

She murmured to the silence, "just give me time. I will recover, somehow. I just need time. There's so much left of it, too."

She looked at her hands, wondering if it was even worth continuing. How could she build her and Miraak's vision, without him in it? She had never contemplated suicide before, but it was painfully obvious that she'd outlived herself a hundred times over again. There would be no natural death for her, thanks to Miraak, and how else could she ever be reunited with the first dragonborn, but in death?

 _I loathe the idea of giving up. Not after all the work...the sacrifices..._

 _I don't know what to do. Somebody, tell me what to do... Do I carry on, or stop now? I am certain that Miraak would wish for me to continue the fight against the chaos. But I am no dragonborn. I was not born to stop it. Not like him._

 _But Jyrath is..._

She closed her eyes.

She heard footsteps, approaching down the decrepit hallway outside the chamber. Had Jyrath followed her? One of the Children of the Dragonborn? She did not know, and a part of her did not care. She did not look up, even when she knew the person had entered the room. She closed her eyes, wondering if it was perhaps an enemy. Perhaps this was all about to end here. She did not currently have the heart to defend herself.

The other person halted, as though waiting.

Not an enemy, it seemed.

Zin exhaled, murmuring, "can I not be left in peace?"

"I had no intentions of disturbing your peace."

Slowly, she turned her eyes, disbelief seizing her. She leapt to her feet, for there stood before her, an illusion!

"What trickery is this!?" she snarled.

Miraak was there, his robes and mask in place, just as she remembered. But they were not Hermaeus Mora's robes and mask. They were the ones that he'd worn before he'd been won over by the Daedra Prince of Forbidden Knowledge - seduced to its power and secrets. They were deep blue, framed in rich gold.

"This is no trickery," he said, raising his hands.

"YOU ARE DEAD! WHAT ELSE COULD IT BE, BUT A TRICK!?" she screamed at him. She took a deep breath, desperately trying to rein in her emotions. "Miraak is dead," she amended. "I do not know who you are, or what you want, but this is a cruel trick." She closed her eyes again behind her mask. "You are likely a figment of my imagination. I'm losing my sanity. I've lived too long, seen too much, experienced too much."

"Zin," he said, taking a careful step forward. "I am not dead."

She glared at him through her mask, annoyance rising in her. "Yes, you are! Jyrath told me what happened. Stop doing this to me!" she snarled. "You have no right to!"

"Zin, please," he whispered. "I am me..." He reached to his neck and lifted the wolf-teeth necklace that she'd gifted him so long ago.

The ice mage stepped forward and threw a punch. Her fist landed solidly in his stomach.

Miraak grunted in surprise, but did not move.

"You're..." she tilted her head, staring into his mask. "You're solid. Can a person hallucinate this strongly?" She studied him closely.

"No, they cannot," Miraak replied, though he sounded slightly winded.

"You're eyes are strange... Who are you, exactly?" she demanded. "I need to observe your face, then I will know the one responsible for this wretched joke." She reached for his mask.

He reacted and caught her hands, a note of desperation entering his voice, "Zin, not yet. Let me-"

She broke his hold in a surge of blind fury, yanking the wall of gold away. She gasped. "You..."

The other stared at her from his now-skewed hood, but his unmasked face wasn't unmasked at all. It was a different kind of mask. Instead of smooth pale skin speckled with stubble, deep blue - almost black - scales had formed over part of his skin. His eyes were their pale ice color, but the part of them that should have been white was pure black.

He looked like a dragon.

And yet, despite that, he still held the same features that she knew so well.

"What the-?" she growled. "What is _this_?"

"It is the price I pay," Miraak sighed bitterly, looking away from her.

"What do you mean...?" she shook her head, backing away from him. "You _are_ Miraak, aren't you? I don't understand." Her legs hit a coffin, and she sat down on its lid heavily.

"Before I realized Hermaeus Mora had...prolonged my existence... I looked into ways of immortalizing myself. I found a ritual for a Dragonborn, lost to this world, yet remaining in the Daedra's library...'but the longer one uses it, the more he starts to resemble his kin.' Faal Dovah. It has taken a toll... I activated this ritual long ago, before I ever resurrected you... My...rebirth has also sped up the process, too, it seems. I do not know why. Perhaps it is because I have called upon that part of my soul so strongly to survive."

"But you didn't look like that before!" she protested. "When you approached me in Nirn... When you resurrected me! When we found Jyrath!"

"I hid it from you with Illusion magick..." Miraak confessed. "I did not want you to see it. I was afraid."

"Afraid? _Afraid_? You used _Illusion_!?" she laughed without amusement. "The great Miraak afraid." She ripped her own mask off, flinging it to the ground. She was crying again. "Afraid of your looks!? Why aren't you ever afraid of anything _normal_ , Miraak? You tried to murder my son, and then you died yourself, without ever letting me know that was your intentions! You want me to get over that all, too, I suppose?" she growled. "I am not you, Miraak. I am not a dragon. I can't brush off emotions like that, but I'll be damned if I didn't try - if I don't _continue_ to try."

She glared at him with as much fury as she could muster, anger predominating everything in her.

To her surprise, Miraak dropped to his knees, pushing back his hood. His dark hair fell free, and he looked...humble. Zin could not believe that she had ever thought of Miraak and such a word together.

"Please, Zin," Miraak murmured. "I did not intend to die. If I had, I would have told you! I did not intend to fool you into thinking I was never coming home! Why would I? I do not expect you to cast aside your emotions. I only ask that you listen to me."

She stared at him, her icy façade threatening to falter again. She clung to it stubbornly. "Speak, then," she said, bitterness resonating in each word.

"I have been such a fool, my honor. l... I am so very sorry. I had every intention of returning to Nirn as I was, but I could not. I learned that far too late, when I was dying, my life draining out. Rebirth was the only option... I saw..." he took a deep breath. "I suppose it could have been a hallucination, but I personally believe it was Akatosh."

"Akatosh..." Zin scowled skeptically. "You saw the Dragon God of Time? No body just 'sees' the Aedra without being declared insane, Miraak."

"Yes, I know...but even if I was insane at the time, seeing that dragon made me realize..."

"What?"

"That I had failed. You. My destiny. This world. Ultimately, I had failed myself. It gave me such guilt, but then...I was able to forgive...and cast aside Hermaeus Mora...and my fear. I could Shout."

"Shout?" she repeated.

"Yes. The very Shout I used to bring you back, I used its four-word counterpart to bring myself back. It was something that I could not master before, so I had cast it aside long ago as an option...but there is was."

Zin stared into his eyes, uncertainty growing. "What did Aka...this, dragon, look like, exactly?"

"Like the sun...Zin... Like the sun. Pure white fire that would have blinded me, if I'd seen it with my actual eyes."

He stood up and approached her. He sat next to her, and she did not rebuke his presence. "I still don't understand exactly," she murmured.

"I don't either, to be honest," Miraak returned, putting an arm around her shoulder. "I am sorry, Zin. I did not mean to put you through such pain."

She met his gaze.

 _He looks so earnest...even if he looks like a dragon now...so real... Not an illusion, anymore. How do I even react to this?_

"Will you forgive me for my mistakes?" Miraak asked.

Zin narrowed her eyes, and then sighed. She blinked and raised her hand to his resting on her shoulder. Her heart thawed. "How could I _not_ , Miraak? Even though you put me through the worst, you also bring me through the best. And I'm wise enough to realize that one extreme cannot exist without the other. I suppose that is why it's important... And I have never stopped loving you since the day I declared it...so I can do nothing else but forgive you, Divines help my sanity."

He smiled a little, relief breaking out across his features. "Thank you."

He leaned forward, as though to kiss her. She halted him with her hand. "Miraak..."

He gave her a questioning stare.

"It's..." she sighed. "It's your face. I apologize, Miraak. I just need some...time...to...adjust...from everything."

"I understand," he said, though there was some disappointment and sadness there.

She felt somewhat guilty for that, so she threw her arms around his solid form and hugged him, closing her eyes. It occurred to her, that they had what they'd wanted. Miraak was free, but it still didn't feel the way she thought it would. It felt...nostalgic, almost, as if they'd been trying to go back to how things were before his imprisonment, only to realize it was impossible. She didn't know where it went from here, or how they would mend all that had been rended apart through their trials...but they had to try.

Divines, indeed, help her stay sane, she prayed again. She didn't know how much more she could take.

"What now?" she whispered.

"Now," Miraak said, voice calm and soft, "now we plan on how to bring this world the peace it requires..."

* * *

 _._

* * *

 ** _End of Part 2._**

* * *

 ** _Dovahzul translations -_**

 _Dii Slen Tiid Vo - My Flesh Time Undo  
Sahgaatmulaag - Phrase of Power_

* * *

 _ **A/N** \- WEIRD TWISTS, FTW! Hope that wasn't _ too _weird... Actually, fun fact! a body's cells are completely 100% replaced approximately every seven years(if memory serves), meaning a human being looks completely different every seven years. Just imagine how much you would change in appearance if you could live for five thousand years. :O So, I kinda went wild with it... I mean, Miraak now has dragon DNA keeping him alive... And the basic idea of immortality is constant replacement of dying cells... Meaning his human cells are being replaced by dragon cells, very slowly, over time...  
_ _And I'm one of those people who like to sneak in a little science to my magic when possible...secretly, of course. XD To be entirely honest, though, I'm just coming up with excuses for something I find interesting even though it has no major significance(that I know of yet) for the story. My brain might surprise me later. It's been known to do that... And, credit where credit's due. The 'new' Miraak look was inspired by the design that the fanfiction author, Evil is Relative, uses in her story, and she in turn was inspired by the DeviantArt user who goes by the username of Jowain92. I just kind of took the design a bit further. May draw an image of it, I don't know yet. Also,_ _I liked the idea of it throwing Jyrath off-balance in their fight...which is what he was about to comment on before Miraak sliced his arm open, in case you didn't catch that._

 _ **I digress.** I'm taking a small break from this story now. I plan to use that time to read from chapter one to now and fix typos and such. I also want to fix my capitalization. It's extremely uneven in my story, mostly because I wasn't sure what was capitalized and what wasn't when I began writing. My earlier chapters failed to capitalize things like Shout, Voice, Thu'um, Daedra, ect... And now it bothers me upon rereading. __I'll probably need several days for that, then a week or so for a break. Then, I will enact my plan to start on Part 3._

 _That is, of course, that your still interested in a part 3. It may take some time, because a lot of my rough draft has been rendered useless by my most recent changes. Ugh. I will never write a rough draft so far in advance again next time. Or, I could go to my prologue for a time, even... Decisions, decisions..._

 _I apologize for the long author's note. I'm feeling very talkative._

 _Have a fantastic day!...and maybe give me some feedback, too? :3 I appreciate it greatly!_


	51. Dichotomy - On the Hunt

_**A/N** \- __So, here's the part where I say I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever and blah, blah, blah... Yup, taking a break got me sucked away from fanfic for awhile...but I do want to finish this story._ _I hope I can get through part three and finish it before the next time I get caught up in something else. We'll see, won't we? :)_

 _Anyway, enjoy the brand new chapter that'll kick off the final part to this crazy, weird, and rambling story I've written!_

* * *

~D~

 _Opening of Part Three: Dichotomy_

 _(Dumedak)_

The Khajiit fixed her sharp eyes on the man sitting at the desk. He was bald, and a gray beard lined his chin. She was a little surprised. She'd been expecting a fat, lazy, comfortable target - someone made vain and cruel by a life of undeserved power, comforts, and fine foods...not a man with the wizened, kind, and empathetic face that stared at her, evident laugh lines having wrinkled his skin over the course of decades. This target, she thought, deserved to know where his death came from. She moved from the shadows, shifting the dagger from hand to hand. She halted, wanting him to see her and know what she meant for him. She was the end. She was his death.

And his demise would bring glory to her family.

His eyes flashed surprise upon seeing her, but his shocked expression faded to understanding. His face filled with acceptance. "And once more, I prove Commander Maro the fool. You can't stop the Dark Brotherhood. Never could," he observed coolly.

She froze. She hadn't been expecting _that_.

"Come on," he encouraged, "don't be shy. You haven't come all this way to stand there gawking."

Her whiskers twitched under her mask. "You expected me?"

"But of course. You and I have a date with destiny. But so it is with assassins and emperors, hm? Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the killing blow. It is simply the way it is. But I wonder, would you suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?"

The assassin was not accustomed to this sort of casual conversation with her targets, but she found she could not bring herself to silence him before he'd said whatever he felt he needed to. "Fine. Speak."

"I thank you for your courtesy…" He sighed, shifting in his chair. "You will kill me and I have accepted this fate. But regardless of your path through life...I sense in you, a certain ambition… So I ask of you a favor. An old man's dying wish. While there are many who would see me dead, there is one who set the machine in motion. This person, whomever he or she may be, must be punished for their treachery. Once you have been rewarded for my assassination, I want you to kill the person who ordered it. Would you...do me this kindness?"

"I'll, hmmm...consider it," she told him. "I promise nothing..." Her tail flicked, eyes narrowing.

"Thank you. Now, onto the business at hand."

He stood and walked towards the fancy, tinted windows gazing out over the bay. He exhaled, taking in the view one final time.

The cat stalked forward, slipping her knife around to his throat. "Find peace in the void, old man," she whispered. She drew it with a jerk of her arm. "Hail Sithis," she murmured, crimson spilling over her claws.

The lifeless body collapsed, and a sleek form stole out of _The Katariah_ unseen.

* * *

.

* * *

That World Will Cease to Be

(Tol Lein Fent Dir)

* * *

LI. On the Hunt

(Nau Fin Nir)

Jyrath grinned. It was not a grin of amusement, but one of irony. He stared into the mirror, the once-despised looks of the elf he bore seeming so insignificant now. So unimportant. How it had once meant something, to be different, outcast. But he _was_ different, in another way. He was dragonborn, which seemed to have nullified the rest of what he may be to the world. At least, on the surface. Many still hated the idea of the half-elf chosen by the gods, but it mattered not. There was nothing they could do about it. They would never mistreat him to his face now, and, with time, they would learn to accept it. It served them right, he thought, to be proven so wrong in their false convictions.

He stretched, shaking away the last bit of sleep. Once again, he adorned the finest clothes he owned. The grin disappeared and he frowned at his reflection, instead. He shrugged his shoulders, the excellent cloth making him feel uneasy. He did not particularly care for the way they screamed status, but Zin insisted that if he were going to accompany her to the Imperial court, he had to, "look presentable." A necessary evil, it turned out.

Shrugging away his early-morning musings, he exited the room and strolled down the hallway.

He entered the livingroom, gaze flicking to the rising sun outside the window. He rubbed his eyes and crossed into the dining room. His eyes picked out Zin, who stood at one of the windows, looking out at the dawn. Her face turned, the red light reflecting in her eyes.

"Is there breakfast?" Jyrath asked hopefully.

"Jyrath," she said. Her tone was almost...cold.

His brow furrowed. "What is it?"

She inhaled. "The emperor was assassinated last night," she replied.

"What?" He asked, surprise washing over him. "The emperor...is dead?" He struggled to wrap his mind around that.

"Yes." She stood still for several moments, then said, "...all of the careful negotiations and plans. We had everything in place to finally push back at the Thalmor, but…" she stepped away from the window, facing him, "with Titus Mede II dead, it's likely that many negotiations I worked for will fall through. There's no way of knowing if the one they will elect in his place will be intelligent and eloquent enough to see the wisdom of our plans." She shifted, agitation evident in the motion. "All the ties I had set up in the Elder Council will be useless if they elect a fool."

Jyrath folded his arms. "They respect you, right? Can't you influence who they choose?"

"No, they're in too much of an uproar to be reasonable... One of their own, Amaund Motierre, ordered the assassination of the emperor himself... I suspect he was anticipating being elected, but was unwilling to wait quietly for the old man to pass."

"Was?"

"He is also dead...double treachery, though we don't know why. What he planned to do with that power, no one can say... And now the council has turned on each other while they send for the emperor's closest, remaining heir. A nephew, I hear - distant. I do not know what he will be like. It's possible, too, they may even still elect one of their own, but all the hostility is...going to their heads."

"The emperor's death will destroy _all_ the progress you've made?" he asked. "That seems...extreme..."

"Maybe not all, but it's very possible a lot of it will be undone... Before I went to Solstheim, I worked extensively on building relations outside of Cyrodiil. I spent centuries on it, Jyrath. Some have faded, others have grown. But now that the emperor is dead, the empire appears weaker than ever before. Those who originally stood against our worst enemy - the Thalmor - have fallen, including the Blades, and many of our other agents...and now, the emperor himself. So many will be afraid to pursue alliances... Especially the southern provinces where I had _tentative_ relations built upon years of hard effort. We will likely have to wait for several more years - if not decades - before major action can be taken."

Jyrath shifted himself. "But that means there is time..right?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I just don't know. And that's the entire problem with this situation. I'm working blind, now, until some sense of normalcy is restored. The Thalmor could launch an invasion tomorrow. Maybe they had Amaund in their pocket, and were waiting for this chance. Who can say for sure? Maybe they intended for the emperor to die, so we would be more easily conquered. Or maybe not. Maybe they'll sit back and wait while we destroy ourselves from the inside out, if men like Ulfric Stormcloak have their way..."

"I'm...as surprised as you are by the emperor's death," Jyrath said, "but, honestly, I think you're worrying too much. This will not blow up _that_ much. Other countries know that leaders come and go. Besides, I know I sound callous, but the old man was bound to pass sooner rather than later."

"You might be correct. We shall have to wait and see, then."

He looked around, but he didn't see any food that looked like it was cooking. He reluctantly moved to the cupboards, dragging out bread, cheese, and fruits.

Zin didn't seem to even notice. She turned back to the window.

"Are you still going to court, today?" Jyrath asked.

"Yes," she returned, terse.

The silence pressed in again.

"Where is Miraak? I thought he'd be here, by now."

She hesitated. "He is out...causing some trouble, I imagine."

"You really don't know?" Jyrath dropped at the dining table with his cold breakfast.

"Well, he didn't say exactly where he was going, only that he had some… _Yuvonfahliil_ to...pay a visit to. And I am certain that he did not mean it in a good way."

* * *

Miraak snarled. His fist found a handful of black and dark purple robes, and he dragged the one wearing them to his feet. "What are you planning, elf?"

The Thalmor gave a wheezing chuckle. "I...don't know...who you...think you are...but you are incredibly daft to believe you'll learn anything...in this manner."

Miraak clenched his hold, irritation flooding him. "You all aim for dominance, but have no desire to live to see it. I do not understand."

"I...fight...for...my...cause… Not...for...myself…"

"Then I'll keep killing your people until I find someone reasonable." Miraak's hand erupted in flames, and the elf screamed once, loud and obnoxious, before dying.

He flung the singed body away, stepping forward. The stench curled his lip, but set his blood on fire all the same. His gaze was drawn to the hearth, where ashes fluttered lightly amongst the thick, black and gray logs that glowed orange and red. What remained of any important documents that he could have used, no doubt, lay there. Apparently, the Thalmor was not wrong; Miraak had been going about this the wrong way. He let his irritation drain. He needed to approach this problem from a different angle. Perhaps stealth would be the only option, in the future, as no Thalmor had been willing to answer his questions. He'd never been good at sneaking though, and he loathed the very idea of resorting to something so lowly.

It seemed it would become necessary.

He heard a noise in the room. He turned and made for the sound, eliminating the problem of the door between him and the cause of it with a simple slice of his sword. It fell in two, the wood tumbling away before him in a clatter.

Inside, he saw a Khajiit. She crouched, hissing, eyes wide, ears flat.

"I mean you no harm," he announced. "It's the elves I'm after."

Eyes gleaming in the light from the windows, the cat stepped forward. "This one did not know what he was planning." He realized she seemed small. Perhaps smaller than she should've been, her voice mild, too.

 _A child?_ "Perhaps you can help me," Miraak responded, sheathing his blade. "And in turn, I will help you escape this place."

She perked her ears up. "Escape? Khajiit would like that. I didn't want to work, but kit-mother died, and these elves replaced her with Daro'ura."

"Is that your name? Daro'ura?"

"Yes."

"Did you overhear, perhaps, what these elves were planning, Daro'ura?"

Her eyes became shifty. "They spoke of great plans, they did. Heard lots, Khajiit did. I hear talk of assaults in Skyrim! Though, _when_ , they did not say. They talked of killing someone important, but didn't say a name to go with… They want weakness from other lands… Too careful to move themselves with too much resistance..."

"You're perceptive, young one."

"Khajiit is good at noticing things that go unnoticed." She sounded proud. "Daro'ura heard lots, kind one."

"Let us leave, then you can tell me more of it," Miraak replied. "I'll get you to safety, Daro'ura. Do not worry."

"Thank you," Daro said. "This one is not worried." She padded across the floor. Mirak noted how quietly she moved. She dropped next to one of the bodies, rummaging in the Thalmor's pockets.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah," she leaned back, holding a glittering silver necklace. There was a blue emblem at the end, but Miraak couldn't make it out from his angle. "Daro knew it would be here."

"You did?"

"Yes. Like Khajiit said, she is good at noticing what goes unnoticed. She saw pretty necklace. It has no owner now, so she gives it new owner." She caressed the pendant, though, like it were the most valuable possession. She dropped it over her head. "See?" She asked. "Pretty." She flicked her tail, standing and making for the entrance. "These two should leave this place now."

Miraak followed the young cat to the entrance. She stopped at the broken door, whiskers twitching as she observed the damage. "This one knows how to make an entrance."

The first dragonborn gave no comment as she stepped gently out of the wrecked frame. He followed.

"How far to nearest city?" she asked.

"Miles, at least," Miraak responded. "It is a long journey."

"Is that mask made of pure gold?" she asked without warning. In wonder, she looked at him, eyes sparkling in childish delight.

He chuckled. "Of course, Daro'ura."

He thought he saw a gleam enter her eyes as she looked away. "What is this one standing around for? These two go now."

The young cat set a fast pace through the woods and showed no hesitation. He was not far behind, and found himself mildly impressed with her stamina. They only slowed when he had to tell her directions. She never faltered in his guidance, though, and moved inefficiently, yet deftly, through the woods, leaping across logs and rocks at every opportunity, seeming to do so for the thrill of it. She often laughed or sang, too, having far too much energy than she should have.

Considering the ordeal she'd just been through, he was more than a little surprised. A young child witnessing death and destruction and losing her mother...and reacting calmly? There was more here than what met his eye. Contrary to her words, he'd found no Khajiit body of her mother. Of course, he had no idea how long she'd been working for the elves. Perhaps days...weeks… Perhaps the body had been disposed of somewhere remote.

However, if she'd been working for them, why did they lock her in a closet? Punishment, perhaps, for failing a duty? Perhaps she'd locked herself in there out of fear when he'd broken in. He pushed those musings away and proceeded on. He could ask her later.

When darkness fell, they set up a camp - a fire with the leaves and grass cleared away for a place to sit. Miraak took a spot, cross-legged by the fire, gazing into it.

Without a word, the young cat curled up on the ground on the other side and soon fell asleep.

He focused inward, letting his thoughts become sharp and tempered in the flames's image on his eyelids. He could sense the passage of time, even as he emptied himself of the idle and unimportant musings of the day. He concentrated on what he'd learned. Attacks planned in Skyrim? That made no sense. The Thalmor were already based in Skyrim, taking prisoners of those who broke their laws...but that didn't mean they weren't carrying out more offensive moves there, too. Moves that had nothing to do with the White-Gold Concordat. He would need to follow up on this lead, to be sure, and track down the next set of Thalmor Justiciars, maybe use an invisibility spell this time, and…

He stayed this way for hours, falling deeper and deeper into the meditation.

Disturbing sensations invaded his mind, and he winced, feeling a jab of discomfort. Darkness reached for him, and he felt a twinge of routine fear in response. The abyss opened, chuckling, and he responded by reinforcing his mental defenses.

 _Ah...how triumphant you must still feel, Miraak…_ the darkness murmured. _But you should also be wary. Know that you cannot escape me forever. You will forever be vulnerable to my manipulations... It is only a matter of time..._

 _Enough,_ Miraak thought back, _I am through serving you, and I will eradicate your influence from my world. Leave me well enough alone._

He called upon his dragon blood, pushing back at the invading consciousness.

A brilliant light appeared behind his eyelids, and the dark presence vanished. Miraak could sense the powerful will of a dragon far beyond him appearing there. The brilliance of the dovah seemed to outweigh everything, and his own strength seemed insignificance in response.

 _Akatosh…_ he thought. _Why appear to me again?_

 _The very fact that you have given yourself a second chance, leads me to believe that this world and dragonkind need one, too… The young dovahkiin has turned his back on the prophecy of the Elder Scroll. As you know, Alduin lives. The Scrolls have been re-written by this very choice… Creation is on the brink..._

 _Why tell me this now, though, of all times?_

 _Because the one deed that signals the end, has been committed. You will learn of it, soon… I leave it to you to decide what you will do with my warning. Perhaps it is time for an end to this all…or perhaps not. Only time, will tell._

The presence vanished, and despite the ominous warning, Miraak felt peaceful inside. His concentration became even steadier.

A shadow approached him in the physical world, hoping to take him unawares. He readied himself to react. Something reached for his face. His hand lashed out. He caught a furry wrist.

"Daro'ura," he said, eyes snapping open. "What are you doing?"

Daro struggled to pull her hand back. "Khajiit was going to…going to..." she trailed off, a helpless expression on her face.

"Steal my mask," he knew, "if you could, that is."

"No, not at all! She is sorry to have bothered. Khajiit likes shiny, pretty things. Just wanted to feel the texture."

"I don't think so. You're a thief, aren't you? You wished to make off with it."

"N-no," she replied. "No thief. Khajiit is - was - Thalmor worker, until this one rescued her!"

"Stop lying, child," he growled. "I do not appreciate it."

She froze, blinking, evidently surprised at his harsh tone. The dying firelight glimmered in her eyes.

"Now," he said, voice becoming gentle, "tell me the truth."

She blinked again. "Yes, Daro'ura is thief. She wanted mask... But only because Khajiit needs to survive by selling pretty things..."

"Why are you surviving, so young, as a thief?" He asked.

"Daro'ura did lose kit-mother, but long before she was old enough to remember. She lost kit-sister too. She has found survival by taking the unnoticed things. Did not want this one to know, in case he kills thieves."

Miraak sighed and relinquished his hold. She sat down on the other side of the dying fire, tail curling over her feet. The dragonborn said to her, "you were at the Thalmor hideout, trying to steal that pendant. You didn't work for them, did you?"

"No... Daro'ura saw it at merchant stand, but Thalmor bought it... Followed him here, but got caught."

"If I ensure you will not go hungry again, will you promise to stop stealing?"

"Yes, kind one. Khajiit will stop stealing if she no longer needs to."

"I am serious, child. You'd better not lie to me." He took off his mask, looking her dead in the eye. "Is this gesture sufficient enough to make you believe?"

She nodded. "Yes. Khajiit promises!"

"Good. I will remember that you promised, Daro'ura."

She hesitated, shifting, looking like she wanted to speak.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Why does this one...look like this?" She asked, voice uncertain.

Miraak sighed, realizing he'd not bothered to hide his actual features with illusion as he might have if he'd given it thought. "Magick," he eventually replied.

"Oh… Khajiit will be careful around magick, then!" She exclaimed.

* * *

.

* * *

 _ **End of chapter.**_

 **Dovahzul Translations -**

 _Yuvonfahliil - Golden-elves. (Altmer)_


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